Ego Te Absolvo
by threehundredthirtythree
Summary: A story of F!Hawke & Fenris. Rated T for violence and language. **Bioware owns everything.**
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Just did a quick update of this chapter to make a few things clearer. And just as a reminder: Bioware owns everything and I, sadly, do not.

Hope you enjoy the story! - 333

* * *

**Chapter One**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Just outside Kirkwall_

Fenris marched with the single-minded focus of a soldier, returning to Kirkwall from an escort job up the Wounded Coast. He had been taking more mercenary jobs on his own lately, since working with Hawke was... awkward now. What had happened with Hadriana – and afterward – made it prudent for him to stay away, if possible. Hawke was a capable woman, and, as Sebastian liked to say, had assembled quite the team. As much as Fenris worried about her (and as much as he'd deny that he did if anyone asked), he had confidence in her skill. If he left her for a day or two, or even a week at a time, she would be fine. He would return to Kirkwall; he owed her that much.

What he hadn't expected was for Kirkwall to be actively and literally on fire when he did return.

He was still a distance away from the city, but the smoke, the smell of burning... it was evident and distressing enough. Fenris continued his solid march toward the city-state, as questions drifted across his mind, unbidden – how had this happened? Was the fire an accident? Had it been an attack?

Fenris prevented himself from thinking about any of the people he knew and had inexplicably come to care about. He wouldn't think about Aveline or Varric or Sebastian.

Or Hawke.

Not entirely consciously, he began to walk faster toward the city. The beginnings of a prayer hovered somewhere in that same not-quite-conscious space. What he was praying for, and to whom he was praying, Fenris himself couldn't have said, but it was sincere.

The city looked worse up close than it had from the coast, but Fenris could not notice. He could not be shocked. Shock made you weak, exploitable. It stopped you in your tracks, and movement was freedom. Movement was life. Recovering and reacting quickly and calmly was survival.

Fenris lost himself in movement, relying on instinct to carry him forward as he focused his sharp eyes and ears on his surroundings, attempting to piece together what had happened.

He saw a city on fire, the poor scrambling and desperate, a few opportunists attempting to take advantage of the chaos to loot nearby houses – not that he blamed them, as he'd done similar things himself – as some of the city guard vainly tried to restore order. Fenris saw the injured and the dying, saw their mouths move as they cried out for someone to heal and help them. He saw those whose pleas had gone unanswered.

There were screams, Fenris heard as he continued on, wails of grief and pain piercing through his haze. The sound of fire roaring nearby caught his attention momentarily, and he heard a house collapse behind him. People were calling out – to gods, to loved ones, to anyone: Emilia, where are you, answer me, I can't find you. Take care of them, Rik, promise me you'll take care of them. Maker, Dessa, stay with me, I know it hurts, but stay with me, we'll find you a healer. _Dareth shiral, lethallan._

_ Fenris._

It was quiet and distant, but Fenris heard his own name. He stopped. Someone was looking for him. Years of flight warred with the knowledge that he had people who worried about his well-being now. The voice belonged to one of his allies, he thought fiercely. They had shed blood together, and now they were looking for him to ensure his safety.

But he could not make himself move. He realized suddenly that he was standing in the middle of the Lowtown Bazaar, that one of the nearby staircases was on fire (as were two of the buildings), and that he had a stitch in his side and a growing headache from the smoke and screaming.

**_Fenris._**

His name was called again, louder and more desperate. The voice was familiar to him. It is an ally, he insisted in his mind.

As much as he wanted to, he could not make himself continue to go forward. As much as he liked to pretend that he had no master holding his leash, Fenris listened to the pounding of his pulse in his ears and realized who his master really was: his fear.

"_Maker, give me strength._**_ Fenris, where are you?_**_"_

The voice was familiar and welcome: heavily-accented and usually jovial, but now it, like him, was struggling with fear. It was a voice that was barely holding panic at bay.

With the knowledge that it well and truly was an ally searching for him, Fenris was able to force his legs to move in a vaguely forward direction. His keen elvhen hearing made out a quiet prayer.

"Blessed Andraste, stand by Fenris in this difficult hour. Protect him and keep him safe from harm."

Fenris ran up toward the voice, taking the stairs two at a time. One of his allies was looking for him, was fine, was alive. The others might – they_ would, _they_ must_ – be well, too. Optimism was something Hawke had been trying to teach him, but it had turned out to be more difficult than reading; she hadn't been too optimistic herself lately – not with everything that had happened.

"Fenris!" The voice of the Starkhaven prince and/or Chantry brother came calling again, half-panicked now.

"Sebastian?" Fenris returned as he rounded the final corner near the long staircase to Hightown.

The elf's eyes locked on his ally and widened in alarm. Sebastian's armor was stained all down the front with what had to be blood. He had several cuts and bruises on his face and neck, and he was holding his left arm at an awkward angle.

"_Venhedis,"_ Fenris swore, moving forward to assist him. "What happened?"

"The Qunari," Sebastian said. "They tried to take the city."

Fenris shouldn't have been surprised. He knew the Qunari couldn't leave without the Tome of Koslun, which Isabela had stolen, asked Hawke to help her find, and stolen again before fleeing Kirkwall, presumably for good. He knew the tensions between the Qunari and the Chantry had been running high for some time. He knew the only one dealing with the madness, the one the Arishok respected was –

"Hawke," Fenris whispered.

The prince nodded.

"Where is she?" Fenris said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

Sebastian didn't reply. It seemed he hadn't heard. His face was guarded, as if he were trying to choose the right words to say something unpalatable.

No.

**_ No._**

Fenris would not allow –

"It was single combat," Sebastian offered, finally seeing that the elf was practically glowing with anger and worry. "She's alive, she won, but she's... not in good shape, Fenris. I wanted to prepare you. It... will not be easy to see."

Fenris's talks with her about the Qunari had taken hold, then. It seemed the Arishok had truly respected her. He had declared her _basalit-an._ Hawke had challenged him. She had fought in single combat with the leader of the Qunari military who carried two swords that were the same size she was. She was a rogue, wielding two daggers that were hardly big enough to give him a paper cut. It was stupid, foolish, reckless –

And if he'd been there, he would have suggested it.

Fasta vass, he _should have been there. _Why had he left her to do this on her own?

"She's still at the Keep. She..." Sebastian swallowed hard, "she couldn't be moved. She asked me to find you."

Fenris looked at Sebastian with wild, panicked eyes for a moment.

Panic is death, Fenris thought, trying to steel himself against the feeling. Closing his eyes, he almost found words for the prayer he had not been able to articulate.

"Anders should be there by now, so..." Sebastian tried to look hopeful for the bereft elf in front of him.

Fenris nodded, not saying anything, not trusting himself to say anything. Sebastian turned toward the stairs to Hightown and led Fenris to the Viscount's Keep.

The elf did not see Hightown. He saw nothing of the abandoned, burning market stalls; he did not note the bodies of the carta dwarves, Circle mages, Templars, and Qunari strewn about; and he paid absolutely no attention to the rush of nobles, even though they were all murmuring the words "Hawke" and "Champion."

He wanted to be with Hawke, to comfort and console her as he had after her mother died, and yet...

He had left her.

He had left her _again._

He might lose her for good this time.

Why had he not stayed today and gone with her to see the Arishok?

_It would have made no difference, had I been there,_ Fenris thought angrily. _I would have suggested single combat._ _The outcome would have been the same._

As Sebastian pushed open the door to the Keep with his good arm, Fenris realized that there was one thing that made all the difference:

If, instead of running and staying away, instead of slinking off to hide like the coward he was, he had stood by her and been there with her today, _he would already be with her now._

Every step, every inch away from her as she lay injured was a new barb stinging in Fenris's mind.

It was anguish.

It was torture.

It was probably nothing in comparison to what Hawke was feeling right now.

It was very probably worse.

Sebastian and Fenris moved quickly and silently into the throne room. Aveline stood guard, at the periphery of the room, with a look of total disbelief on her face. Hawke's uncle Gamlen stood near Aveline, drinking something potent out of a flask. He gave the flask to her, and, after a moment, Aveline took a long swig. She handed the flask back to Gamlen without looking at him.

Someone had taken Hawke's box of emergency supplies – which she laughingly called "The Justin Case" – from the estate, and Merrill was carefully sorting bandages, gauze, elfroot, and other supplies for when Anders needed them. The witch was focused on her task, trying to use the hands-on work as a distraction from everything that was really happening. The standing tears in her eyes showed exactly how well that was working.

Isabela, Varric, and Anders were kneeling beside Hawke; they were packed so tightly around her that Fenris could not see her. Isabela was keeping pressure on one of Hawke's wounds. The pirate looked stricken, immeasurably guilty, and faintly green. She did not seem to see or hear Sebastian and Fenris come in, since she did not take her eyes off Hawke.

Anders was lit lyrium-blue, which meant exactly one thing: he was calling on Justice to help him heal Hawke. That would have been a bad enough sign on its own, but, as he called to Merrill for more gauze and barked at Isabela to keep pressure on the leg wound because _damn it, he would not lose her to this_, it was clear how far his energy and patience had been strained. The abomination must have been at it for hours already, judging from the empty lyrium potion bottles lying about.

Varric held Hawke's hand in both of his, quietly telling her a story. Varric always insisted that he wasn't in the market for children's tales, but the circles under his eyes and worn look on his face told Fenris exactly why he was now regaling Hawke with the tale of "The Wolf who Cried Boy." As he began the tale, a weak and sputtering chuckle came from the broken woman in the middle of the room.

Hawke wasn't just alive; she was _conscious_.

"Hawke..." Fenris breathed. Relief, sweet relief. He hadn't realized there were tears in his eyes before now.

"We're back," Sebastian said, his voice gentle. Neither of them had moved from the doorway.

Varric was the only one who looked at them. The dwarf gestured to Fenris to come closer.

"...Varric?"

Hawke's voice was weak, so weak. Fenris should have been here sooner.

"I'll have to continue this story later," Varric said with a smile. "The elf's here."

Fenris saw Hawke try to exert herself, to rise to a sitting position. That, more than anything, was what drew Fenris forward as Anders put a hand on her chest to prevent her from moving and doing herself any further injury.

"No, Hawke," Anders said, kind but firm.

Varric moved aside for Fenris to sit next to Hawke. The elf got his first real look at what had been done to her, and she...

Hawke was staring at him, confused – almost as if she could not focus her eyes on him properly.

Fenris realized that was probably a symptom of the trauma she'd been through. His eyes searched the rest of her body, and he understood why Isabela looked nauseated. Hawke was petite, for a human, and quite a lot of blood - _her_ blood - was on the once-immaculate floor of the throne room. She had been cut out of her leather armor to allow Anders and Isabela easier access to her wounds. Every part of her was bruised or bleeding; she was broken in more places than Fenris could have counted at first glance. Her skin was ashen, almost gray, and her breathing was quick and shallow.

Sebastian could _never_ have prepared him for this.

While Anders and the others had been able to begin healing her, the scars would remain – like the ones on her neck that she had received in the Deep Roads from the rock wraith abomination. Fenris remembered how she had tried not to cry in front Varric, Bethany, and himself when she had realized that they would never go away. Hawke had been self-conscious about them, Fenris knew, but had never wanted them to see her weakness.

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle, weak, and ice-cold hand resting on his forearm. Fenris brought his eyes back up to hers and saw a look of unbelievable relief and joy in them – a look he did not feel at all worthy of receiving.

"Fenris..." she whispered, affection as present in her voice as exhaustion.

"I'm here, Hawke," he hushed her, brushing the hair out of her face, which was damp with sweat. "Does it hurt?"

Hawke paused for a moment, trying to concentrate long enough to answer his question. Fenris stroked her forehead gently, a silent reminder that he was here, he was _here_, and it would be all right.

If only someone could reassure _him_ of that.

"I think so," was the answer she decided on as she closed her eyes.

"She's in shock," Fenris realized. Hawke gasped for air.

"You think?" Anders snapped.

Fenris felt his hackles raise at the tone, but forced himself to calm. He had clearly worked himself to the bone already, and Hawke, while alive, was slowly slipping away from them all. If they were to start arguing, it would only agitate her.

"Don't worry," came the sputtering laugh again, "I don't think it's _all _my blood."

Fenris would have given anything in Thedas to be able to respond to her, but... he couldn't.

"Now that he's here, Hawke, I need you to take the sedative. It'll make things easier," Anders said. He put a hand out toward Merrill, who produced a small, dark green vial.

Hawke simply nodded as Anders removed the stopper from the vial.

"Help her lift her head, would you?" Anders asked, still a little testy.

Fenris removed his gauntlets and slipped one hand behind Hawke's head, supporting it gently. He put his other hand out for the vial, a challenge in his eyes – old habits die hard, as Hawke had said to him once.

Anders gave it to him, with the curt instruction, "Half _only_."

Fenris nodded once, and Anders went back to healing her. The liquid smelled of spindleweed and elfroot; nothing too dangerous, and he'd long since realized the abomination was a capable healer. Once Fenris helped Hawke take the required dose of sedative, he eased Hawke back down and handed the vial to Merrill.

Hawke made a face of disgust – a face that was so undeniably and unbelievably _her_ that Fenris couldn't help chuckling. The tension in the room lifted palpably as everyone from Aveline to Varric seemed a few hours younger.

She grumbled weakly, "That tasted like liquified ass."

"Descriptive," Fenris said, finally giving her the smirk she liked. Hawke gave him a soft smile in return... a small one, but better than he'd hoped under the circumstances. The healing was starting to help, it seemed.

"No wonder you wanted to wait for him to get here before you took it, then," Merrill chirped, trying to banter and succeeding about as well as she usually did.

Hawke's smile vanished and she looked away from Fenris. Etched into every line of her face was a host of fears Fenris knew she knew too well.

"Just in case," she said quietly, closing her eyes and trying to regulate her breathing.

She had been afraid she wouldn't wake up, Fenris realized. Ever-reckless and often-shortsighted Hawke was afraid of dying. He wouldn't have believed it not too long ago.

Fenris wouldn't have believed Hawke would let him see the small tear he saw racing down her cheek, either. He wiped it away, simply because she couldn't right now, and he made a mental note to remember to forget about it at his earliest convenience or she would "kill him in the face," as she put it.

"Hawke..." Fenris sighed, uncertain how to reassure her. She needed something from him that he did not know how to give.

He saw the fear and worry in her face, even with her eyes closed and the sedative gently tugging her toward the Fade. Quietly, slowly, Fenris lifted one of his hands and began to stroke Hawke's hair, as he had done after her mother died. He was reasonably certain that Hawke had found it comforting, then.

It seemed that Hawke still did find it comforting, because she leaned into his hand, sighing, relaxing – Fenris smiled at that.

Fenris forgot, for now, that he had said he could not do this. He forgot that the others were present and watching. He forgot everything but her and alleviating her pain. It was all that mattered. Hawke had chosen to be in pain rather than risk dying without seeing him again, which wouldn't have been a risk at all if he'd simply been where he should have been to begin with: with her.

Fenris didn't deserve her forgiveness, but he owed her an apology for abandoning her to this because of his own cowardice. Hawke was asleep, or shortly would be, but Fenris realized he needed to say it as much as she needed to hear it. Perhaps even more so.

"Paenitet me, Hawke. Debui hic," Fenris whispered, his voice as soft as his touch. _Forgive me, Hawke. I should have been here._

Fenris continued to stroke her hair, though more slowly now. She is asleep, he thought to himself, smiling fondly. I will have to...

Then he heard a whisper as gentle as his own: "Non est vestra culpa, Fenris. Ego te absolvo." _It is not your fault, Fenris. I absolve you._

He felt the sedative give Hawke over to the Fade completely, leaving him to the reality of several very confused and bemused allies – and one irritated abomination.

Because of his unwillingness to deal with his companions, his exhaustion, his relief, and his surprise, it didn't occur to Fenris until much later than it should have that Hawke didn't speak Tevene. She would have had to research those particular phrases, or, at the very least, have asked Orana for them.

It would keep him awake for days when he finally did realize it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Kirkwall, Viscount's Keep_

_He's fast._

It was all she had time to think before a sword the size of her came down – just an inch from her right shoulder. Hawke stumbled to the left and kicked a miasmic flask at him.

_That should stun him for a moment,_ she thought, running behind the nearest column and pressing her back against the cool marble. Hawke unstoppered a health potion with her teeth and downed it quickly. She felt the small injuries she'd incurred fade away, though they were still sore.

A roar came from somewhere behind her. On the other side of the column, right where she'd left him.

The Arishok hadn't been stunned at all.

_**Balls.**_

He was going to charge.

She knew he was going to charge.

Hawke shifted her position around the column slightly, to her left, hoping that he'd be too distracted to notice that she'd moved.

The air whistled around him as he surged forward toward the right side of the column. Hawke shifted further around to her left. Two large swords wound up cleaving the air where Hawke used to be as two small daggers embedded themselves in the Arishok's back, right above the shoulder blades.

The Arishok didn't even flinch as Hawke took her daggers out of his flesh and began to run, half-stumbling. If she could make it to the other column...

_He's fast_.

It was all she had time to think before a sword the size of her stabbed right through her stomach.

Until this moment, Hawke hadn't known what the word "pain" really meant. The sharp sword threw the rest of the world out of focus – she couldn't see anything, hear anything, make sense of anything... except the pain.

She began to hear noise – people were shouting, screaming – someone (or maybe several someones) was calling her name.

She felt the sword being lifted up with her still on it.

The Arishok moved his sword to a slow beat. The three of them – Hawke, the Arishok, and the sword – were moving together in a sharp, blood-red dance.

He threw her off the sword.

She landed a few feet away from him.

From the floor, she could just make out that he was walking slowly toward her. He was a predator, looking down upon his prey.

This was it, then.

The thought didn't fill her with the fear it should have.

Y_ou great grey__** git,**_she thought. _You've been fighting me, to the death, you said – and you don't know. You never even __**suspected.**_

He hadn't stopped walking toward her, but the pace was slow, agonizingly slow. Or was it time that was slowing? Trying to give her another few "precious" seconds of life?

_You fool. You blind fool. _

He was just a few steps away now. Wasn't her life supposed to flash before her eyes or something?

_You __**can't**__ kill me._

Hawke looked the Arishok straight in the eyes. She defied him. She would defy them all. What did it matter if he were the one to stop her heart from beating?

_I'm already dead._

The Arishok gave a small, cold smile. He approved of her. It seemed he liked the spitfires, the ones who fought with everything they had.

Fenris had told her this about the Qunari. He had been right.

That **bastard.**

With one sweeping motion, Hawke grabbed her only combustion grenade out of her pocket. She hurled the small sphere at the Arishok.

The smoke, combined with his surprise, stunned the Arishok. It would only last a few seconds.

It was all Hawke needed.

Forcing herself to her feet – she never knew how – she ran to the column on the other side of the the throne room and positioned herself on the far side of it. She downed her last health potion and felt some of her favorite organs begin to repair themselves.

The Arishok growled from the other side of the room. Hawke could have laughed.

_Here we are again, _she thought with a grim smile.

Hawke needed to think quickly. She knew she didn't have the energy to perform the column trick again. The Arishok would likely come to the same conclusion, if he hadn't already. She was injured; he had a few cuts. She was slowed now; he was as fast as ever. Miasmic flasks didn't work on him.

Hawke was out of grenades, health potions, and time.

She needed to even the playing field somehow. She had the smoke bombs she used to help her backstab, but those wouldn't do much of anything. She also had...

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small black vial. Her favorite poison seller, Tomwise, had given this to her a few days before – _everyone needs an edge sometimes, right? _– and told her to use it sparingly, only in the most dire of circumstances.

Hawke was pretty sure this would count.

She coated her daggers with the black sludgy liquid as the Arishok roared, signaling his intention to charge again.

_Come on, _she thought. Hawke was ready for him.

As he rushed forward, she stepped out from behind the column – directly in front of him this time. Throwing down one of her smoke bombs, she shifted right behind him and stabbed with all her strength.

Her push combined with his momentum made him stumble. The Arishok was thrown off-balance and would be vulnerable as he tried to regain it.

Hawke wished she had done that on purpose.

She pressed on, slicing, stabbing, cutting; They weren't deep or too damaging – but she would do anything to get the poison into his system. The more there was, the more likely it was to work quickly.

The Arishok swung around wildly, his sword parallel to the ground, trying to slice Hawke in half or force her to move away.

Instead, she ducked under the blade – _thank you, Fenris, for your instruction on how to handle large swords_ – and her left dagger found the Arishok's heart.

Their eyes met – and there was no hate or resentment in either Hawke's or the Arishok's. They were just two people frozen for a moment in time. Two people caught on opposite sides, but both fighting for what they believed in. Two people fighting each other, but each of them respected and honored the other.

They understood each other perfectly in that instant.

He stumbled backward onto the stairs leading to the Viscount's throne. Hawke nearly reached a hand forward to help him up, her voice about to say _I'm sorry, I was trying to kill you but I never wanted you to __**die.**_

"One day, we shall return,"he said.

And he breathed his last.

The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter ran in, clearly expecting a battle to still be raging. Instead, they found the Qunari leaving, their leader bleeding on the Viscount's Orlesian rug, and Hawke, clearly the victor, but looking oddly sad about it.

"Is it... over?" the Knight-Commander asked, sounding confused. The tone would have made Anders laugh if he'd been there to hear it.

"It's over," Hawke replied, turning away from her fallen enemy and looking the Knight-Commander in the face. Hawke's eyes were cold now – the eyes of a dead woman.

"Well done," the Knight-Commander said as the nobles cheered. "It appears Kirkwall has a new Champion."

The Champion crumpled. Her wounds were more grievous than the health potion could have possibly healed. She fell to the floor.

* * *

She hears shocked noises a thousand miles away. They're too loud. Her head hurts. Her eyes are open, but she can't see.

"Give the Champion some air!" the Knight-Commander yells over the din. "Captain Aveline, help me escort these nobles out of the Keep."

Loud, rumbling footsteps sound like thunder as people leave. They mutter among themselves: poor girl, she saved us, fighting the Qunari, how shocking, she saved us, poor Dumar, who will lead us now, she saved us.

"I am no healer, but I can try to stabilize her," the First Enchanter says quietly. His robes rustle as he kneels next to her.

Blue-white magic tingles over her wounds.

"They don't hurt. You don't have to do anything, they don't hurt."

"You're in shock, serah – oh, I'm sorry, Champion," his voice smiles, "but don't worry. You'll be right as rain soon enough."

"I'll go get Blondie," Varric's voice suggests.

"Anders? But – Varric, no, don't –"

But he's already gone.

"It's all right," the First Enchanter whispers. "They won't do anything to your friends."

"Are they all right? Please, Maker, let them be all right."

"Would one of you come here, please, and talk to the Champion?" the First Enchanter calls – _loud, very loud ringing in her head._

A few clinking noises and a voice with a Starkhaven accent is beside her.

"That was very brave of you, Hawke," he says. "Your family would be proud, I think."

"The others?"

"Aveline, Varric, Isabela, and I are all fine. Varric went to get Anders –"

"Merrill?"

"The Qunari didn't look to be troubling the Alienage too much. They had too many elven supporters for them to bother her, I think. She's probably fine."

_"_And... Fenris?"

"I'm not sure, Hawke," Sebastian apologizes, his voice soft. "Remember? You haven't seen him for a few weeks."

She remembers now. She was so angry at him when she was fighting, and before today.

He'd yelled at her, pushed her, almost killed her, left after sleeping with her, and then refused to talk to her – and she had been angry – so, so angry – at him for all of it.

She's shocked, then, to discover that she's not angry anymore. On the contrary, she feels guilty for having ever been angry with him in the first place.

She has to tell him. He has to know.

The fear of dying that she hadn't felt during the battle came on strongly now. It hits her like a Qunari fist to the face. (And she knows exactly how that feels now.)

"I know I have no right to ask you for anything..." she begins.

"You saved many lives today, Hawke. You have every right," Sebastian chuckles quietly.

"Fenris... will you..?"

"I'll find him. I promise," he says.

"Thank you." She sighs in relief.

He leaves. Isabela kneels beside her now, holding her hand but not talking.

"First Enchanter?" Hawke asks.

"Yes, Champion?" he asks her, still casting healing spells.

"Do you speak Tevinter?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Kirkwall, Viscount's Keep_

Fenris had no idea how much time had passed when the abomination sat back on his heels and declared Hawke safe to be moved.

"She's not out of danger, not quite yet," Anders sighed, "but it should be safe to take her home now.

Relief crashed on Fenris like a wave breaking on the shore. It overwhelmed him as Anders sent Gamlen off to warn Orana and Bodahn that Hawke would be coming home.

Anders said some other things as well, but Fenris had never been less interested in listening to the abomination's prattle. He only had eyes for Hawke. Fenris carried her to her estate – _when had she gotten so light_, he wondered dimly – and placed her in the bed in her room.

Bodahn, without being asked, had carried two comfortable chairs into Hawke's bedroom. He placed them next to the bed and said something Fenris hadn't quite caught. Something that involved saying "messere" several times and making clucking noises like a mother hen. He seemed pleased when Fenris finally decided to sit down in one of the chairs, taking Hawke's hand in his again.

Fenris didn't notice that only Anders had followed him to Hawke's estate. He hadn't heard the others decide to try and manage this mess so that Hawke could have a long rest. Aveline had decided to try to rally the guardsmen, Sebastian had gone to the Chantry to help the Grand Cleric comfort the desperate people within, Varric had run to gather more supplies at Anders's clinic, Merrill had left to find more people who needed help in Lowtown, Isabela had simply disappeared, and Fenris hadn't noticed, nor would he have cared.

The rest of Day Zero of Hawke's recovery, companions came and went, bringing supplies or words of comfort and support. Bodahn provided aid where he could, mostly in the form of beverages, and Orana made sure there was plenty of easily-obtainable food for any of her mistress's friends as they rushed in to check on Hawke's status and rushed right back out again when they heard there was no change. Even Gamlen found a way to assist by turning away any visitors.

The fear that they might lose their lady rogue permeated the house and everyone in it. While Anders had said she was safe for the moment, that was by no means a guarantee that she would make it through this.

Fenris had assisted Anders in dressing Hawke's wounds and applying pressure or poultices when asked. Every time someone barged into Hawke's bedroom – which was once an hour or so – to ask how she was, Anders had no choice but to say that her condition was unchanged. At first, he'd tried to be optimistic about it, saying things like, "there's been no change yet, but it's still early," or "she's the same, but I wouldn't expect any improvement yet."

But as the hours dragged on, Anders had taken to giving shorter and shorter answers and then, finally, a resigned shake of the head. Around midnight, Fenris decided to finally bring up the proverbial genlock in the room.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, more courteously than usual.

"No," Anders said. "It's just – Hawke had us working at midnight _last_ night, trying to get the book for Isabela. In-between that and now I've had to fight to save the life of a woman giving birth, to stop the Qunari from taking over Kirkwall, and, finally, to keep Hawke alive."

"Is this going anywhere?" Fenris growled, returning to his usual level of courtesy.

Hawke wasn't dying. She was going to live. She had to.

"I'm trying to say that I'm _tired. _Not to mention that I've taken _far_ more lyrium than I should have for one day." From one of the many piles of supplies around the bed, Anders pulled a small packet as he continued, "I think we'll give her a bit of this – it will help prevent infection – and then I'm off to bed."

"So you are just going to leave and hope she's still here in the morning," Fenris said. _Just like a mage, always thinking about himself, _he didn't have to add.

"I can't do much in this state," Anders returned, starting to get annoyed, "and I'm not leaving. I'll be sleeping in the study, and Orana has promised to stay in here with Hawke. She'll let me know if anything changes."

"Let Orana rest. I'll stay."

"Are you... sure? If Hawke wakes..." Anders began. He was clearly surprised at Fenris's decision, not realizing that this wasn't really a choice. Staying was something he had to do.

Hawke would have known. What was it she'd said, some time ago? _The smarter you are, the more compassionate you are, the fewer choices you actually have._

"If she wakes, or if anything else changes, I will alert you." Fenris promised.

Anders simply nodded, an unreadable expression on his face. He went to Orana for some water and to let her know of the change to the plan.

While he was gone, Fenris looked over at Hawke. He couldn't say her expression was peaceful, but it wasn't pained either. There were several bruises starting to form, mostly on the left side of her face; they would look worse before they got better. The various cuts and scratches had started to heal, however, and only one or two of them would scar.

Anders came back a minute or two later, carrying an iron kettle, an empty bowl, and a spoon. Fenris raised an eyebrow – was the abomination going to be cooking? Making tea? He received his answer as Anders put the contents of the packet – several different kinds of crushed leaves, it appeared – into the bowl, which he then filled with hot water from the kettle. He used the spoon to mash the leaves, which, when combined with the water, made a pulpy poultice.

"When that cools, call Orana or Bodahn. They'll help you put it on the injury on her stomach," Anders instructed, yawning. "I'm off to bed."

"What is... in that?" Fenris asked, looking at the greenish goop with distaste.

"Elfroot, for general healing. Thyme, as an antiseptic. Some comfrey, for the bone injuries. Raw potato."

"_Potato?_" Fenris asked, incredulous. "Is this medicine or a meal?"

"It'll help with the inflammation," Anders shrugged. "See you in the morning, I guess. Wake me if there are any changes."

And with that, Anders left the room.

As much as Fenris hated the mage, and particularly hated when he was anywhere near Hawke, it was good to know he wasn't going to abandon her when she might take a turn for the worse at any moment.

* * *

Day One of Hawke's recovery was less frantic, but still urgently busy. Anders, Fenris, and Orana had to clean Hawke's injuries and change her bandages – and wasn't _that _just a barrel of laughs – and then they all settled in to much the same routine as the previous day: Anders providing healing both mundane and magical, Fenris assisting when he could, and the others coming in to see if there were any changes – but perhaps a bit less frequently than the day before.

Hawke hadn't woken, even still. Anders said that "wasn't uncommon," but, if it persisted, he'd find out why she wasn't responding. The others trusted his word on that and their fear relaxed somewhat; after all, Anders was the healer. He would know.

Only Fenris saw the tightness in his eyes.

* * *

Around tenth bell on Day Two, Anders discovered that Hawke was running a fever. Tension rose among the companions and erstwhile allies, and the fear that had been lessened the day before came back stronger than it had been when Hawke was first injured. Arguments broke out among all the companions, even the non-confrontational ones like Varric and Sebastian.

Hawke's room became a battleground, as Fenris accused the abomination of not doing enough to help Hawke, and Anders retorted that the slave didn't know what he was talking about.

"These things take _time_," Anders sighed, exasperated and exhausted after three straight days of healing. "Magic can't do _everything_."

For once, it seemed, they agreed on something.

* * *

Day Three, the screaming began.

Fenris had been half-dozing, if he were to be perfectly honest. Anders had gone to Lowtown to get even more herbalism supplies from one of Hawke's contacts. It seemed these injuries were truly severe, since they had run through all of the healing supplies at Hawke's estate and all of the ones the mage could spare from his clinic in just a few days. Anders hadn't returned yet, probably because all the chaos in the city made it difficult to get around.

Hawke's eyes were open and bloodshot, her face contorted into a mask of pure horror.

Normally, Fenris wouldn't have even wondered about Anders's whereabouts, but when Hawke began to writhe and shriek as if in pain, Fenris's concern grew. And, as with most times that Fenris had to feel things, he quickly became angry. Where _was_ that blighted mage on the rare occasion when he was needed? Did he not care that Hawke was in pain? Did it not _matter_?

Of course it didn't. The mage, for all his doe-eyed looks in Hawke's direction, never cared for anyone but himself and the demon he allowed to live within him. If he had _truly _cared for her, he'd have sent someone else to Lowtown and stayed at her side to protect her, no matter what.

(The blatant hypocrisy of that thought escaped Fenris for the moment.)

Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana rushed into the room, as if they were one entity. Fenris tore his eyes from Hawke as the three servants practically fell over each other in the doorway. Their mistress was alternately screaming, sobbing, and gasping for air to do the other two. The looks of worry and fear on Bodahn and Orana's faces were identical. Sandal, however, was simply puzzled.

"Messere!" Bodahn cried, "What is going on?"

"I am uncertain," Fenris said, trying to maintain his weakening composure, "but she needs Anders. Now."

Bodahn nodded, sputtering out "I'll see what I can do," before running out of the room as quickly as his short legs would carry him.

The screaming began again, growing louder and more desperate than before. She called for her father, her mother, Carver, Bethany – anyone who could hear her, be merciful, Maker, please.

It became something less than human: the call of a terrified, trapped animal. It was the sound of suffering.

Fenris knew it all too well. He had hoped never to hear it again after leaving the Imperium.

When it subsided a few moments later, Orana left the room, murmuring something about making tea and gathering more bandages.

Sandal, however, stayed. He stepped up to the bed and the broken woman in it, his eyes full of curiosity and pity.

"Nice lady hurts," he said soothingly, placing a hand on Hawke's forehead. "Nice lady is scared."

Fenris was shocked; he hadn't been aware that the young dwarf could say anything more than "enchantment."

Oddly enough, Hawke seemed to be... better for the dwarf's small attention. She was no longer screaming, but the sobbing continued. Sandal was right; she was terrified. What was she seeing?

Sandal looked over at Fenris for the first time since entering the room. The dwarf seemed to look _through_ him, rather than _at_ him. It was unsettling.

"Help?" the dwarf said. He made it sound like a question.

"What do I do?" Fenris asked in return.

Sandal took his hand away from Hawke's forehead, and stared at the elf with that unsettling look again.

This time, Fenris understood. He began to stroke Hawke's hair, as he had done before. It seemed to help somewhat. Hawke relaxed a bit further, but still seemed frightened.

"Talk," Sandal whispered. Then he turned and left the room.

Of all the things the dwarf asked him to do, it had to be this. Talk? About what? Fenris didn't like to talk to people in general, having had little practice with it before his escape. He wasn't _good_ at talking. How was he supposed to talk to someone who couldn't respond? And why, if she needed someone to talk to her, was Varric somewhere else? Varric could have told her a story, but Fenris couldn't think of any at the moment.

He moved his hand down to stroke her cheek in a slow, steady, comforting rhythm.

Feeling incredibly foolish, Fenris said, "Hawke. I am here. You are safe."

He didn't even know if she knew he was there. She was clearly delusional – probably from her fever. Was she hallucinating? If so, could she see anything but the hallucination? Could she hear and understand him? Could she feel his hand on her cheek? It seemed like it – she was visibly more relaxed than she had been – but the panic might be fading for other reasons.

Fenris began to sing. It was a haunting, melancholy melody. He could never recall having heard it before, but he knew it by heart. His voice was gentle and low as he softly sang for the often infuriating woman next to him.

_Dormi, mi fili, dormi –_

_sunt qui dicunt_

_vitam beatam esse:_

_dicunt, dicant, nesciunt._

_Dormi, mi fili, dormi –_

_veniet dies_

_quo tibi erit_

_larga, largissima quies._

_Dormi, mi fili, dormi –_

_aderit mox_

_mihi, tum tibi_

_ultima, optima nox._

As he finished the song, he noticed that Hawke was truly asleep. She looked peaceful now, though still feverish.

He whispered, "Do not fear. I will be here when you wake."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you like the story so far!

Fenris doesn't belong to anyone – except Bioware. And so does everything else; I'm just playing with it.

The song Fenris sings at the end is called "Canticulum," and it's by composer Johannes Alexander Gaertner. I haven't been able to find a recording of the song, but the text is beautiful and perfect for a slave's lullaby, I think.

(For those of you looking for texts for Tevinters in general and Fenris in particular, is a great resource, and it's where I found this song.)

**Translation:**

Sleep, my dear child, sleep -  
There are those who say  
that life is blessed:  
They say, let them say, they do not know what they say.

Sleep, my dear child, sleep -  
The day will come  
where you will know  
a long, a very long rest.

Sleep, my dear child, sleep -  
soon there will be  
for me, then for you  
the last, best night.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Some of this chapter's dialogue (but as little as I could get away with) is lovingly stolen from the game. That - and the story and characters of Dragon Age - belongs to Bioware. I'm just playing with it.

I hope you enjoy the chapter!-333

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Kirkwall, Hawke Estate_

Exhausted, Hawke trudged in the door. She had hoped to get some rest - maybe she could harass Bodahn or Orana into giving her a midnight snack? - but, alas, as was always true in her life, something had to happen to screw it up.

"You and your selfish whims! I'm trying to keep the city from ripping itself apart!" Hawke heard Aveline's voice call from the foyer.

"Get off your high horse!" Isabela's voice returned, "I have problems too."

"Ha!" Aveline barked a short, humorless laugh, "'What drink should I have?' and 'Who's the father?'"

"Oh, you little -"

"What is it NOW, you two?" Hawke called, unable to contain her anger as she burst into the living room.

"Hawke, the Arishok is harboring two elven fugitives. I need your help to convince him to hand them over," Aveline stated reasonably.

"I'M going to DIE!" Isabela histrionically exclaimed.

Hawke and Aveline looked at her, puzzled.

"Got your attention?" Isabela asked.

"One at a time, please, and slowly," Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was going to be oodles of fun, she imagined. "Aveline, what's the situation with the Arishok?"

"Two murderers have... 'converted' to the Qun. They're seeking refuge in the Qunari compound," Aveline said, obviously trying not to allow her Chantry upbringing to hurt her opinion of Qunari, and almost succeeding.

"You don't think their conversion is genuine?" Hawke asked.

"It's conveniently timed," Aveline said. "And even if it is genuine, they must follow the law. I won't have Kirkwall descend into chaos. If they're allowed to get away with it..."

"You're worried this will set a precedent? Commit a crime and get away with it by religious conversion?"

Aveline simply nodded.

"That makes sense," Hawke allowed, "but why do you need my help when you've got the law on your side?"

"I'm not expecting this to go well," Aveline admitted, "and I'd rather have someone the Arishok respected with me in case I'm right."

"I think I understand." Hawke said.

Of course she understood. It was always the same. People asked her to risk her life for them, and she did it willingly, but even her friends had listened to the portrait Varric painted of her as the stalwart heroine, and woe betide anyone who thought of her as a living, breathing, hurting human being. They never really gave her an opportunity to back out. Not now, not ever.

Sighing, she turned to Isabela. "Now, what's this about you dying?"

"Remember the relic? The one Castillon is going to kill me over?" she asked. When Hawke nodded, Isabela continued. "I found it. A man called Wall-Eyed Sam has it, and there's going to be an exchange happening tonight in a Lowtown foundry."

"You're certain this is your relic?"

"I've been keeping an ear out," Isabela said, smiling slightly. "Varric's not the only one with contacts, you know."

"So, you've found it, and you want my help in getting it back, I take it," Hawke stated simply, walking over to her desk. She poured herself a glass of reddish wine from a bottle that she had started keeping there.

Isabela nodded. "I'm not letting it slip out of my hands again."

"I'm trying to keep the city together -" Aveline interrupted, her face and hair clashing shades of red.

"Well..." Isabela began, "maybe it's connected."

"What?" Aveline said, dumbfounded.

"It's valuable to someone, right? Maybe it will help," Isabela said, evading any real questions about what the relic was, who wanted it, or any other specifics.

"NOW you start being responsible?" Aveline muttered. "Shit."

"One last question: how likely is this to turn sour?" Hawke asked.

"Considering that we're the ones _turning_ it sour?" Isabela snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"Point taken."

Hawke paused for a moment. Tensions between the Qunari and the rest of the city were high, even with Ser Varnell and Sister Petrice out of the way. The damage had long since been done. If they were ever going to get Isabela's relic, it would have to be before they went to the meeting with the Arishok.

Just in case, Hawke mused darkly, taking a long swig of wine. Half her life was spent "just in case".

She took a deep breath and another swig of wine before saying, "We'll handle the relic issue first."

"You trust her this much?" Aveline asked.

"Probably not," Isabela quipped. "I wouldn't."

"If I might put us back on track," Hawke said, clearing her throat, "when is the exchange happening?"

"Around midnight," Isabela answered.

"That gives us two hours to prepare..." Hawke said, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "Isabela, can you run to Lowtown and get Varric? I hate to bother him this time of night, but we'll need him and Bianca."

Isabela nodded with a look that was almost a grimace. Hawke knew she didn't much like the new, less fun woman Hawke had become lately. Everyone else gave Hawke a wide berth, blaming her mother's death for her personality change, but Isabela saw through that. The loss of her mother hadn't helped, certainly, but the change had been a long time coming.

Hawke wondered how much Isabela knew or suspected about the real reasons. Did she suspect how overwhelmed Hawke was feeling? Did she know about everything that had happened with Fenris? Hawke couldn't decide if she cared if Isabela _did_ know all of it. On the one hand, Isabela was a dear friend and Hawke was very fond of her. On the other hand, nothing Hawke did seemed to make any difference anyway, so what did it matter if people approved of her or not?

"Aveline, we'll head to the Qunari first thing in the morning. That's the best I can do."

Aveline nodded, putting her professional Captain face on.

"Good. I need to ask a small favor," Hawke said, plastering a smile on her face, "I know it'll be tough, but can you come along to the relic thing tonight? I'd like to have someone to get hit so I don't have to."

"I can't, Hawke," Aveline shook her head. "I'll have to change around the entire patrol schedule for tomorrow. And I'll have to make sure the guards' equipment is ready for a fight, just in case things go as badly as I'm hoping they don't."

"Damn," Hawke muttered, taking another swig of wine. "That means I'll have to be the meat shield tonight, and I rather like all my meat where it is."

"You... couldn't you just bring Fen–?" Aveline asked.

"No," Hawke cut her off right as she finished speaking.

"Why not? He could –"

"Not. An. Option." Hawke said in the tone that brooked no arguments, "We'll bring Varric and Anders. Hopefully between the three of us roguish types and Anders' healing, we can wreck anything that comes our way before it hurts us too much."

There was an awkward pause that Hawke absolutely hated. Her friends weren't stupid. They had eyes. They had to have noticed that one day, she and Fenris had been practically inseparable, and the next they were continents away. She knew that they had seen – and now they were going to bring it up.

"You've been avoiding Fenris lately," Aveline began tactfully.

"No," Hawke replied, trying to be flippant, "I've just been deliberately leaving him out of missions, not asking after his whereabouts, and I haven't seen him in a week or two."

"Hawke..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Aveline. I really, really don't."

"But the two of you were quite... close," Aveline asked, "weren't you?"

"Oh, they were _close,_ I'll bet," Isabela purred.

Hawke blushed a shade of red that would have matched the favor she'd given Fenris. She hoped that neither of her friends noticed.

"Maker, you actually WERE, weren't you?" Isabela gasped. "You're blushing!"

None of her hopes ever came to pass, it seemed.

"I am not," Hawke responded, getting a bit testy. "It's a rare skin condition. I get random sunburns. At night. Indoors."

"Sweeting," Isabela began, "there's no shame in having a one-night stand. Especially –"

"There is if that isn't what you'd wanted it to be," Hawke said, her voice thousands of miles away.

Andraste's flaming_ ass_, why did they have to bring it up? She hadn't been able to tear her eyes away as he'd left, asking her for forgiveness even as he was causing the pain he wanted forgiven. His face and voice haunted her everywhere she went, though she was actively trying to avoid thinking or talking about it.

It hurt more than a stab wound to the chest. And she knew from experience.

No one spoke for a few minutes. Hawke was hoping that the others would simply leave. She needed to prepare for another mad mission to help some friend do something that Hawke didn't really understand. She took another long pull of wine.

It took her a moment to notice that both of her friends were looking at her expectantly, and with no small amounts of sympathy and, in Aveline's case, irritation.

"It's late and we're short on time," Hawke said, falling back on professionalism. "Isabela, go warn Varric – I'll get Anders – and we'll meet you at the Hanged Man in an hour."

And with that, Isabela turned and left. Hawke felt like a lamb being put in the same cage as a slightly irritated tiger – not as bad as being left with a fully angry one, but still troublesome all the same. She hadn't realized that Aveline disapproved of Hawke's non-relationship with Fenris. Not that it mattered now, anyway.

"I don't want to talk about it, Aveline," Hawke said. "It happened, it's over, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Well, whatever happened, it's apparently worth your life." Aveline snapped.

"...What?"

"You can't go through with this – whatever it is – without someone in front of you who could take a hit. A few punches to the face and you're down like a sack of kittens, Hawke!"

Maker's _balls_, Aveline didn't disapprove of Hawke and Fenris sleeping together, not necessarily. This was about Hawke's safety in a fight without a front-line fighter.

Hawke felt different, like she had been wandering in a howling wilderness alone for Maker knew how long, when, suddenly, she had found a small, temporary shelter from the wind. She was barely listening to Aveline's tirade about her foolishness in leaving Fenris behind due to pride and embarrassment.

"You can't just bring Varric and Anders and hope for the best," Aveline continued lecturing.

"I was also going to bring a large supply of healing potions," Hawke smiled over her glass – an almost-genuine one, this time.

"_Hawke_!" Aveline warned.

"It'll be _fine_, Aveline," Hawke said. "We're just ruining someone's exchange of smuggled and/or stolen goods. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

Two hours later, Hawke found herself covered in the blood of several Qunari, watching Anders wrap up Varric's wrenched arm as Isabela explained that her relic was the reason that the Arishok was in still in Kirkwall after all these years.

Hawke began to wonder why she continually tempted fate.

"The relic is a book that was written by that philosopher of theirs. Keslan, Cousland..." Isabela said, squinting as she tried to remember the name.

"...Koslun?" Hawke asked, aghast.

"That's the one!" Isabela beamed at her.

Oh, no.

No.

Did that stupid tart even realize what she'd done? Did Castillon know what he'd gotten himself, Isabela, and _all of blighted Kirkwall_ into?

Hawke practically growled, "There had better be a damned good reason why Castillon had you steal it."

"The Tevinter Imperium has been at war with the Qunari for centuries. If they get their hands on the book, it would give the Tevinters a huge advantage," Isabela explained.

"Does it explode? I bet it explodes," Varric said, chuckling.

"Let me see if I've got this straight... the Qunari are still in Kirkwall because that ass Castillon told you to steal a relic from them."Hawke took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before continuing, "And you want me to let _you_ keep it, even now that I've found out it's a book that's about as sacred as _Andraste's fucking handwritten autobiography._"

"That's about it, yeah."

"Fan_-tastic_."

"Look, it's right in there," Isabela said, pointing to the foundry, "and I'm not letting it slip away again."

"Isabela, you _have_ to give it back to the Qunari," Hawke replied. "Kirkwall can't deal with them being here, and I can't handle Kirkwall's problems forever."

"Castillon will –"

"If he gets anywhere _near_ you, I will kill him so hard he will _die _to death!" Hawke shouted, too furious to notice how stupid that sounded, "And you _damn well know it!_ I just – I can't even handle this right now. I need to kill something._Painfully."_

Hawke strode over to the door of the foundry and shoved it open with her shoulder. Varric and Anders fell in behind her, exchanging concerned looks. Isabela followed behind them, wearing an unfathomable expression.

The four of them positioned themselves on either side of the open doorway. They couldn't let themselves be seen by anyone inside just yet. They could see the back of a thuggish-looking man with red hair being backed into a corner, but he was blocking their view of the person he was walking away from.

"Where's the relic?" a woman's voice rang out, hard and cold. It had a Tevinter accent.

"Er, I... I have it," the thuggish-looking man – presumably Wall-Eyed Sam – stammered.

Several things happened almost at once after that: Hawke heard a loud noise like a door slamming. A voice that clearly belonged to a Qunari shouted, "The Tome of Koslun will not fall into Tevinter hands!" Wall-Eyed Sam ran in front of them. Isabela chased after him, yelling about him getting away.

Isabela would kill or (hopefully) subdue Sam and take the relic, then she'd wait for them or come in to help.

_But if the Qunari or the Tevinters go after Sam, they'll find Isabela,_ Hawke thought, _and they'll kill her._

Furious as she was with the situation, Hawke considered Isabela a sister. And Hawke had lost enough people she loved.

There was only one thing for it, then: make sure that no one followed them when they left. This was the weakest justification she'd ever had for killing anyone, ever, but Hawke didn't care.

As she stepped forward to swiftly cut the throat of one of the magisters, she decided that the business of this city was no longer her problem. She'd give the relic back to the Arishok in the morning, wave "_bon voyage,"_ and then Kirkwall was _on its own_. Let it find a new chew toy, she thought as she slashed two more magisters' lives away. She'd look after her own, like she _should_ have been doing all along. If she had, then Mother and Bethany and Carver might...

A large Qunari fist made contact with the side of her face while she was lost in her thoughts. Hawke stumbled and looked toward the creature that had hit her_. _There were two of him, smiling coldly with their eyes as they stepped forward to make a killing blow.

Desperate, Hawke threw one of her daggers at each of them, aiming for the middle of their chests. One dagger hit the mark. The Qunari hissed with pain.

"_Hawke!_" Anders' voice called, thick with worry and fear. _"__Hold tight!"_

She felt the warm, gentle pulse of healing magic racing over her skin.

Hawke continued fighting the Qunari, though she was now unarmed. She saw cold bursts from Anders' staff hit the Qunari's skin. Bianca had also introduced herself, if the bolts embedded in the enemy's arms and face were any indication.

"This goes on too long!" the Qunari shouted.

"I agree," Hawke growled.

He swung his sword wide; she dodged under his guard. As the Qunari tried to stop his momentum, Hawke wrenched her dagger out of his chest and into his throat.

Choking and bleeding, the Qunari fell. Hawke stood over him as he died. Only afterward did she notice that the other enemies were dead.

Hawke rested her hands on her thighs for a moment, panting hard. She was completely winded, she had a stitch in her side, and she was missing a dagger. Varric and Anders ran up to her.

"Are you all right?" Anders asked, clearly concerned.

"I'll live," Hawke said, giving him a half-smile, half-grimace. "Come on."

The three of them made their way back out of the foundry, figuring they'd see Isabela there. She'd be leaning against one of the walls, maybe cleaning or sharpening her daggers with infuriating nonchalance. When they saw her, she'd shoot them a grin and ask what took them so long.

But instead, all they saw were corpses.

Isabela wasn't among the bodies, thank the Maker, but Wall-Eyed Sam was. That could only mean one thing.

None of them said anything for several long moments.

Hawke walked forward and, kneeling, checked Sam's body. Sure enough, there was a note on it.

_Dear Hawke,_

_I have the relic, and I am gone._

The note went on after that, but Hawke couldn't read it. Her eyes blurred with tears and her shoulders shook. She wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying.

Varric and Anders had stepped forward. Varric gently laid a hand on her shoulder, as if he were afraid he'd hurt her.

"It's funny, isn't it?" she said, her voice wavering, "It's just damned funny."

Varric squeezed her shoulder, but neither of them said anything.

"People will follow me into the Void if I ask them to, but I can't seem to get them to do something as simple," she choked, "as stay."

Hawke's defenses crumbled then, and she began to sob. She could hear her shaking breaths echoing off of the walls of the foundries, shattering the nearly-silent hours before dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Kirkwall, Hawke Estate_

The erstwhile companions of one Marian Hawke, newly-proclaimed Champion of Kirkwall and right pain in the ass, were sprawled about the study, waiting for Anders's latest report on their friend's condition.

Well, all of them except for Isabela, of course. She was still missing, having run off somewhere after the battle. Whether they admitted it or not, they all missed her brightness, her humor, her rather perky – erm – _assets_...

But, for now, Isabela was gone. The companions were uncertain if she'd ever return, and so they gathered without her.

Bodahn had, at first, invited them to stay for a few days while Messere Hawke began to heal, which all but Anders declined. He then modified the invitation for the rest of them to "pop in and out as you like, messeres, but please _do _come for dinner of an evening. It's... well, it's far too quiet without people coming and going."

That had been enough to get all of them there most nights.

Varric, as always, drew people around him like a fire draws moths and pursuers. He was seated in the center of the room (in Hawke's usual chair, naturally), spinning a tale that, like all the greatest stories ever told, began with _No shit, I was there._ Merrill was seated practically at his feet, wide-eyed and believing far more of the story than she should have (which Varric enjoyed a bit too much). Sebastian, who believed less of the story, enjoyed it nonetheless as he stoked the fire.

Aveline, who was pacing near Hawke's desk, had stopped by for a moment or two on her way to see Donnic. He had apparently insisted on making her dinner that evening, which had caused Aveline to hurt Orana's feelings by turning down a plate of traditional Tevinter cookies. (To be fair to Aveline, though, Donnic was, by all reports, a _fantastic _cook. This was convenient, since Hawke often called Aveline "the original _cordon black_ chef.")

Fenris, as was his wont, was leaning against the far wall, cloaked in shadow, observing his companions without being observed himself.

This was the pattern they settled into nearly every night.

But tonight, Bodahn said two words that shattered their routine:

"She's awake."

Fenris believed that leaving Hawke was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He would have admitted that to anyone, even Hawke herself, had she asked. And it was still just as true after a few weeks had passed.

Climbing the stairs to see her now, though, handily took the number two spot.

He didn't quite have words to describe what he was feeling. Nervous? Anxious? Apprehensive? None of them sounded quite right. They were but components in the general disorder of his feelings. Concern was also there, of course. But there were other, less paranoid parts of him that felt softer, more gentle things that Fenris couldn't quite identify.

At least thinking about and trying to name his feelings allowed him to avoid actually _feeling_ them.

He stopped at the door to her room, as did the others. They had moved as if of one mind, leaving the study and climbing the stairs in utter silence.

Bodahn slipped into the bedroom ahead of them all, as they awkwardly waited on the landing, and informed Anders that they all wanted to see Hawke.

"I'm not sure Hawke is up to having so many visitors all at once," they heard Anders reply.

"I don't think you'll be able to keep them out, Messere," Bodahn chuckled. "They seem fairly determined."

"A short visit, then," Anders allowed.

_When did the abomination begin running Hawke's household?_ Fenris thought grumpily.

Bodahn ushered them in, saying, "Try not to make too much noise, now. Messere Hawke needs her rest, hm?"

Then he disappeared down the stairs, presumably to give the good news to Sandal, if he hadn't already.

The companions crammed into Hawke's bedroom, all standing stiffly about as if they were unsure what to do.

At least Fenris wasn't alone in that, this time.

Anders, who looked like the Void warmed over, was seated in Fenris's usual chair, _which he had only left so that Hawke could have some privacy while Anders and Orana examined her_.

As for Hawke herself...

Her arms, neck, and face were all they could see of her. The rest of her body was covered by a warm blanket. Though the room was far too hot, stifling even Fenris (who was used to tropical climates), Hawke's fever would have made her feel cold.

Hawke's arms were heavily bandaged, since they had sustained some fairly nasty bruises. Her right wrist had broken just after the fight with the Arishok, as she tried to catch herself when she fell. Her neck was covered in thick finger marks – one of the Qunari before the Arishok had attempted to strangle her; thankfully he hadn't succeeded.

Her face, though, was a sad sight.

By this time, it was practically purple; it had taken a few days for the bruises to appear, as bruises do, and there were so many of them that she was scarcely recognizable. The swelling had gone down, though. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

But lively, beautiful Hawke was more broken than most of them had realized. At least Fenris had seen her since the battle, but seeing her injured and unconscious was completely different than... _this._

Hawke didn't smile when she saw them. If anything, she looked exhausted, drained and inexpressibly sad.

"How is she, Anders?" Aveline asked, not letting her concern show too much.

"Better than I thought she'd be, to be honest," Anders said with a reassuring, if tired, smile, "but we still have quite a way to go yet."

"Do you expect that she'll make a full recovery?" Sebastian asked, moving to lean on the wall near the fireplace.

"It will take some time, but I expect she'll be back on her feet and getting into her usual trouble eventually," Anders replied with a nod.

"Have you found out what caused her coma?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

Anders shook his head, "It could honestly be one of any number of factors. I'm not sure which it is."

_Are they just going to continue to address Anders?_ Fenris thought as the others asked more questions about Hawke's condition and treatment. He was starting to get truly irritated. _What is the point of coming up here to see her if no one will acknowledge that she is present?_

Fenris felt something touch his arm.

Sharply, he turned to engage whatever it was – and saw Aveline. She jerked her head toward Hawke.

"Go on," she muttered. "She needs you."

"What are you..." Fenris began.

He looked Aveline in the face. Her eyes were filled with warm, friendly sympathy for him as well as Hawke.

_Venhedis._

She _knew._

Before he could focus on that thought, argue with Aveline, or leave, she nudged him with her shoulder.

"Go _on,_" Aveline commanded quietly, pushing him forward.

Fenris stumbled, trying to maintain his balance and composure. Everyone's eyes – except Anders's – were on him.

_Thanks, Aveline_, he thought dryly.

He took a step or two forward, to make it look like he'd moved on purpose. He stood next to the bed for a moment before sitting down.

Clearing his throat and taking one of Hawke's hands in his, Fenris asked, "Hawke? How do you feel?"

Hawke looked over at him, astonished. Her eyes darted down to their hands, then snapped back up to his face, as if she doubted Fenris's presence.

Fenris couldn't help the low, rumbling chuckle that escaped him. (Not that he had exactly _tried, _of course.)

"She shouldn't speak," Anders said shortly. "She needs to conserve her energy."

Deciding to ignore the mage, Fenris asked, "Are you in any pain?"

Hawke started to shake her head, but winced as she moved her neck too far. A collective sigh went around the companions. She was so stubborn.

"Hawke..." Aveline warned from her post near the door, "we can't help you if you don't let us."

Their friendly female rogue heaved a dramatic sigh and, with her comparatively good hand, gently touched her temple, her neck, and her right shoulder.

"Can you help her with that, Anders?" Fenris asked politely.

Hawke stared at Fenris, eyes wide and an eyebrow quirked in disbelief.

"Don't read too much into it," Anders said from Hawke's other side, "it won't last."

Fenris shot Anders a cold glare as the mage's hands began to glow with blue-white light. Anders positioned one hand just above her head and the other above her chest, without touching her. The light gushed from his hands and sank into Hawke's head, neck, and shoulder, just where she had indicated. She sighed contentedly, her eyes closing as she relaxed further into her pillow.

All of Hawke's friends noticed how drained and tired she looked.

"I think we should leave you be for a bit," Sebastian said, standing up from the wall.

Aveline said, "Hawke, I'm going to Donnic's for dinner tonight. I'll bring you some leftovers."

Merrill, who hadn't said anything the entire time, walked up to the bed and gently put her arms around Hawke's neck, much to Hawke's surprise and Anders and Fenris's annoyance.

"I'm glad you're getting well," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Rest, _lethallan._"

Clearing his throat, Varric said, "Yeah, we should really let you rest up."

Hawke gave them all a small, grateful look as she closed her eyes and relaxed.

The group began to move toward the door the same way they had come in – all at once. Varric, however, turned back before any of them left.

"And, um, Hawke?" he coughed.

Hawke's eyes opened slightly, meeting Varric's.

"This is as close to your funeral as I ever want to get," he commanded, trying to mask how uncomfortable he felt. "Don't do this again."

"I'll second that," Sebastian responded.

"I agree," said Aveline.

"Yes, refrain," Anders replied.

"I agree as well. Please don't," Merrill chimed in.

Fenris squeezed Hawke's hand and assented with a look that was clearer than any words.

"Motion carries," Varric said with a nod.

Hawke covered her mouth with her good hand. Her shoulders began to shake, and she made gasping noises that honestly could have been laughing or crying.

"Are you hurt? What's wrong?" Fenris demanded.

She wiped a few tears from her eyes before croaking, "Nothing. Everything."

No one spoke for a long moment as Hawke continued to laugh and cry. She took several shuddering breaths as she vainly attempted to compose herself.

"You blighted bastards," she said, her voice cracking from disuse, "that's the first time you've ever agreed on _anything_."

And as she kept laughing, Fenris thought that Hawke, even bruised, beaten, and broken as she was, had never been more beautiful.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hello, lovely readers. Thank you for your patience and for the kind words I received from some of you about my family emergency. I really do appreciate it.

Anyway, here's Chapter 6. Again, Dragon Age 2 belongs to Bioware, and so does a lot of the dialogue in this chapter.

Enjoy, and Chapter 7 will be up on Thursday as usual.

-333

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Undercity – Below the Docks _

_Kirkwall_

The last mercenary fell with a gurgling noise that would have been funny in any other context. For the moment, however, Hawke was not amused.

"So, who sent that lot?" Anders grumbled. "Anti-Qunari, anti-Viscount, or Seamus himself, not wanting to be rescued?"

"Seamus isn't the type," Hawke remarked, prising one of her daggers out of the helmet of the mercenary leader. "I don't think he's 'sending people to kill us' crazy."

As she wrenched the dagger free, Hawke felt a wet prickling sensation just above her right temple. She touched her hand to the spot and discovered that she was bleeding a fair bit.

She really, _really _hated being the meat shield.

_Damn Aveline for not being available_, Hawke thought. _And damn Fenris for... not being available._

"Anders? Is this serious or can it wait?" she asked, sighing audibly.

Anders came over and gave Hawke's small injury a cursory glance.

"It _can_ wait," he said, putting his hand next to the cut and beginning to heal it, "but it shouldn't. And it doesn't have to."

The slightly itchy feeling went away after a moment or two. Hawke could feel the impatience radiating from Sebastian on the other side of the tunnel. A worthy cause such as a rescue of the Viscount's son should not wait.

"Magic may not solve everything," Anders shot Hawke a smile, "but it can help now and then."

"Thanks, Anders," Hawke said, giving Anders the tense grimace that passed for her smile these days.

Hawke strode out in front of Anders, Sebastian, and Merrill, and the four continued their walk to the Docks. Oddly, none of Hawke's companions seemed keen on bantering today. Though all three of them disliked each other, it had never been enough to stop them from talking or arguing when Hawke begged, pleaded, or ordered the three of them to accompany her.

_Maybe they're just anxious,_ Hawke thought. _This Qunari thing has a lot of people rattled._

Hawke considered that she may have been one of the only people who was _not _rattled. The Qunari and the Chantry were at odds, sure, but that was usually what happened when people of different beliefs had to share a space. Eventually, the Qunari would satisfy their demand – whatever it was – and leave. Hopefully, this madness would pass soon, and Hawke would try to ensure that no one else died as a result – or, if that were impossible, that as few people died as she could help. She owed her family's memory that much.

No, the thing that worried Hawke was her bloodied and battle-stained appearance. Not that she was vain – she and the Maker both knew she wasn't classically beautiful – but she was always fairly nervous about dealing with the Arishok. Fenris had told her that the Qunari honored strength, so appearing to be a competent warrior was usually the best option, but would being stained with her own blood would make her look weak, rather than strong? Someone had been able to injure her, after all, even though it was minor.

Perhaps it was silly of her, but Hawke wished Fenris were with her to tell her whether bloodstains were going to damage her reputation with the Arishok, or, as was more likely, to tell her that she was worrying too much.

More than that, she wished she hadn't given Fenris the only handkerchief she had ever remembered to carry consistently.

Before her musings came to any conclusion, they arrived at the Qunari compound and, with a smart remark from the guard about how she was "allowed. For now," Hawke led her team to the dais where the Arishok sat.

"Hope the Arishok hasn't gotten attached to the Viscount's boy," Anders muttered as they approached.

"What do you want, human?" the Arishok asked, as if Hawke were a fly that he couldn't be bothered to swat.

_Actually, that's probably fairly accurate, _Hawke thought. She was more troubled by that than she would have expected.

Aloud, she said, "I'm here about the Viscount's son."

"Are you," the Arishok replied. It wasn't a question; he had clearly been expecting her.

The Arishok paused for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. If Hawke were honest, the grey giant in front of her was even more unsettling when he was quiet. Ever mindful of Fenris's warnings that she should not appear weak before the Qunari, she kept her expression impassive but respectful.

"In four years, I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear, _bas_ still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose," he stated calmly, but powerfully. "The son has made a choice. You will not deny him that."

Hawke saw the Arishok's point. Mother Petrice and her supporters had attacked the Qunari often and without real provocation. And If Seamus's conversion to the Qun were genuine, then his choice had to be respected. But even still, Seamus was the Viscount's son. He had a duty to his father, didn't he? Like his father had a duty to Kirkwall?

_Maker, this is complicated_, Hawke groaned to herself. _Why did I ever get mixed up in this?_

Still, what was done was done, and the Viscount had begged Hawke to bring Seamus back, if at all possible. _She _had a duty to the Viscount, even if Seamus didn't. She had to at least talk to Seamus, which meant breaking through to the Arishok.

"Converting the Viscount's son?" she finally replied, "His opposition will have a field day."

"And?" the Arishok asked, uncaring.

"The enemy of your enemy should be your friend?" Hawke raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Surely the leader of the Qunari couldn't be _that_ bad at politics.

"I don't fear the whole of them together," the Arishok replied, beginning to sound annoyed, "and it is not my role to reject the free choice of _viddathari_. The son responded to his own demand of the Qun. He is neither my slave nor my prisoner."

No matter how much Hawke silently agreed with self-determination, she had to stand firm. Let the Arishok monologue as he liked; she was not leaving without having spoken to Seamus.

"He is not even here," the Arishok continued. "He went to his father. Ask the Viscount why he would send you and a letter both."

"That probably could have been mentioned earlier," Hawke remarked, steaming.

"They are meeting at the Chantry," the Arishok said, blasé. "A last, pointless appeal, I assume."

"The Viscount would involve the Chantry?" Anders asked, incredulous.

"No, but we know who would," Hawke said, her eyes narrowing, "Mother Petrice."

"A suspect in many things," the Arishok affirmed. "If she has threatened someone under my command again, there is only one response."

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," Hawke asserted. "I – just can't think of it right now."

"Her intent is obvious, and what the Qun demands is clear. This is the last insult I will suffer," the Arishok avowed. "Resolve this, or her hiding place will be reduced to rubble."

Even as an optimist, Hawke had to admit that this was bad.

This was very, very bad.

"I will be watching, Hawke," the Arishok growled.

Hawke and her companions were clearly dismissed. She omitted her usual respectful bow, suspecting that it would just annoy the Arishok at the moment.

The four of them left the compound and began a brisk walk toward Hightown.

"Are we going to fix this now? I don't think I want to see the Qunari get angrier than they are," Merrill asked, sounding nervous.

"We are, Merrill," Hawke said. "And since we're going to the Chantry, Sebastian, I may need you to help me if things get sour. I don't want the Grand Cleric getting angry either."

"Of course, Hawke," Sebastian affirmed. "Since you're acting on behalf of the Viscount, though, it should be fine."

"Still, it never hurts to be prepared," Hawke tipped him a wink, in a desperate attempt to raise their morale. "Just in case, right?"

* * *

He was dead.

Oh blessed Maker, he was dead.

Poor Seamus.

"Serah Hawke, look what you have done!" Mother Petrice's voice echoed across the Chantry.

Hawke wasn't listening to what Petrice said next. All she knew was that her instincts had been spot on.

"Are you mad?" Hawke shouted, furious. "Your plans have fallen to outright murder?"

"Where Ser Varnell incited, I reminded in sermon and prayer," Petrice revealed. "When people learn of this attack, they will rise. Not zealots or the unknowing, but the _true_ majority."

"You won't get the Qunari ousted," Hawke called. "You'll get a slaughter. On **both **sides."

"To die untested would be the _real_ crime."

_Seamus was a young, naïve, idealistic boy who had finally found something to live for,_ Hawke thought in a fury, _and _**you**_ killed him, you miserable _**bitch. **_Don't tell me that's not a blighted crime._

"Earn your reward in this life and the next," Petrice told her followers. "These heretics must die."

"Lads," Hawke said, turning to her team, "stay up here. Defend yourselves if you have to, and cover me when I call to you."

"But – by yourself?" Sebastian called as Hawke ran toward the stairs.

"They're **mine**," Hawke growled. "For Seamus."

She ran to position herself in front of the platform where her friends stood.

"Oi!" she called to Petrice's followers. "You don't want to die untested? Then face me!"

Three of the fanatics came rushing toward her. She kicked one in the chest and slipped behind another, stabbing him in the back. He fell with a groan.

The one she had left alone stepped forward to engage her. She stabbed him once in the chest with both daggers. He fell beside his friend.

"Looks like I'll have to pack it in!" Hawke called to her foes, "This isn't going to be a challenge!"

The one she'd kicked tried to grab her by the arms. She kicked him again. He stepped away from her, trying to remain upright with broken ribs.

Some more of the fanatics began to cluster around her. They were snarling.

Good. She'd made them angry.

She heard Sebastian's bowstring _twang_ on the platform behind her and Anders shout "My magic will destroy you!"

_Honestly, how have the Templars not caught him yet?_ Hawke thought as she stabbed a fanatic in the throat.

Quickly bringing her focus back to the present, it seemed that the lion's share of Petrice's followers were trying to surround Hawke, just as she had planned. She sliced and cut, side-stepped and back-stabbed – most of it non-lethal. Hawke was trying to attract attention, not kill.

Not yet.

She cut herself a path through the fanatics to the far side of the Chantry. From there, she could see what her friends were going through on the platform. There were only two enemies left for her friends to engage, and both appeared wounded.

What Hawke would have given for a bow at that moment. But, as her father had always said, you have to make do with what you have.

As her enemies surrounded her completely, Hawke pulled a miasmic flask out of her pocket and dropped it at her own feet. For a moment, the fumes had her enemies stunned.

Looking back at the platform, it seemed Merrill had killed their last foe with lightning. Perfect timing as usual.

"Lads!" Hawke called to her friends. "Give everything you've got! Center it on me!"

Sebastian fired several arrows at the men in the area where she was standing. Merrill called an electrical storm from her hands. But Anders's magic was a force of destructive beauty: a massive pillar of fire, engulfing the area around Hawke.

Her enemies were falling one by one, but Hawke was by no means safe. Sebastian was now blinded by the magic and could only fire at the area in general. One of his arrows embedded itself in her left shoulder, forcing her to drop her dagger. She scrambled forward, trying to dodge the lightning and fire as best she could. Slightly singed and panting heavily, she managed to get her head free of the magic, followed shortly by the rest of her. She fell to her knees, clutching her shoulder – which still had Sebastian's arrow in it.

"Hawke!" Anders shouted, his voice filled with terror and his hands filled with healing magic. The three of them ran forward to their friend. All three of them dropped to their knees to examine her.

"Oh, Maker, Hawke, I am so sorry –" Sebastian began, as soon as he recognized his arrow.

"'S fine," Hawke said, yanking it out with a cry.

Anders began to heal some of Hawke's injuries as they heard Petrice and the Grand Cleric come down the stairs. All four of them rose, Sebastian helping Hawke to her feet.

"Do you see, Your Grace? Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile with every step!"

"There is death in every corner, young mother," the Grand Cleric said in a strange monotone. "It is as you predicted. All too well."

"The 'young mother' arranged all of it!" Hawke shouted, suddenly angry. Did the Grand Cleric not _care_ that Seamus was dead? That this would mean war with the Qunari?

"Don't you spout your Qunari filth," Petrice spat. "_This_ is a hand of the Divine."

"I have ears, Mother Petrice," the Grand Cleric said. "The Maker would have me use them."

"The Viscount's son is dead, killed here in _your _name," Hawke replied, not taking her eyes off the Grand Cleric.

"I'm sure my name won't like that," she said, turning to Petrice for an explanation. "Petrice?"

"Seamus Dumar was – a Qunari convert. He came here to repent and was murdered!" Petrice replied, stumbling over her words.

"Lured by you!" Hawke shouted at Petrice. "You killed him so no one would follow his free choice, right or wrong!"

"It could not be allowed. How many people would be tempted?" Petrice responded.

"As many as would want to go, I suppose," the Grand Cleric said.

"They deny the Maker!" Petrice growled.

The Grand Cleric turned to Mother Petrice, angry at last. "And _you _diminish him, even as you claim his side. Andraste did not volunteer for the flame."

Petrice seemed shocked at the Grand Cleric's ire. _Did she think there would be no consequences to her actions?_ Hawke wondered.

"Serah Hawke, you act on behalf of the Viscount?" the Grand Cleric asked.

Hawke nodded.

"The young mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate," the Grand Cleric said. "The Chantry respects the law, and so must she."

The Grand Cleric began to walk away, back up the stairs to – Hawke assumed – her quarters.

"Grand Cleric?" Petrice whispered in disbelief.

She did not seem to hear the young mother and continued to walk up the stairs.

"Grand Cleric!" Petrice called, desperate for an answer that she did not receive.

There was a _twang._

Then there was an arrow in Petrice's chest.

She fell to her knees, staring as though she didn't believe the arrow was there.

_Twang._

There was another in Petrice's head.

She crumpled, adding one more to the bodies on the floor.

Hawke turned, ready to engage another enemy. She saw only one Qunari.

"We protect those of the Qun," he said. "We do not abandon our own."

Then he left. No one tried to stop him.

Sounding oddly unsurprised, the Grand Cleric said, "Please, send for Viscount Dumar."

* * *

The moment he saw Seamus's body, he was no longer a Viscount, a man with the power to rule a city- state. He was, simply, an old man, grieving the loss of his only son and the last of his family.

Hawke saw her mother, mourning Carver and Bethany. Her heart broke anew.

"My son," he said simply, "murdered in the heart of the Chantry by those who held a sacred trust."

His anger and pain soaked into his voice as he continued, "What hope for this city, when we fail our own so completely?"

Hawke was at a loss for what to say, so she went with the obvious.

"The Arishok is still here, Excellency. You need to be ready to stand up to him."

It was, as Fenris would have said, insufficient.

"I cannot."

Of course he couldn't. This old man was mourning a lifetime's worth of hope, and yet he had to continue moving forward for the sake of others. He began to cry the tears of a man with nothing left.

Hawke realized that she had just done to the Viscount what this city had done to her.

She felt sick to her stomach. She stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder, to offer some kind of comfort, but it was too late.

"Please, Hawke," he begged. "Leave me."

And so she did, leaving her heart behind to break along with his, and walking home to a mansion that would always seem too empty.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hello, lovely readers! I'm sorry this chapter is a couple days late. I needed to do a few last-minute edits.

Hope you all enjoy!

- 333

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Kirkwall, Hawke Estate_

She was an invalid now. Fenris wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

Truth be told, neither was she. Hawke spent her days in bed, trying not to show her friends how much she missed her roving-about lifestyle.

But Fenris saw how she sat up straighter whenever Varric told of a fight with any of the mercenary bands that Kirkwall never seemed to run out of. He watched Hawke's muscles tense when Aveline talked about any altercations with bandits or slavers. He saw her eyes mist over when her friends told her that the city was fine for the moment and she should focus on recovering. Hawke shouldn't worry about the safety of Kirkwall while laid up in bed, they said.

They didn't understand. She could no more leave the cares of this city behind than she could wish her own injuries away. As much as she resented it, Hawke was the heart of Kirkwall: when she stopped beating, so did everything else.

And, in truth, the city did seem lifeless as he wandered around it – on the few occasions when someone was able to force him from Hawke's side. Hightown was all but demolished, Lowtown wasn't much better (since the fire had destroyed quite a bit of it), and the Docks were intact, but vandalized. Several anti-Qunari citizens had painted slogans all over the former Qunari compound. As he walked by, Fenris was oddly grateful for his limited reading skills.

He always returned to Hawke's side, however. Fenris sat with her for hours every day, mostly in silence. Aveline had said that Hawke... needed him. And so with her he would remain.

If that were true.

He wasn't sure if he wanted it to be true or not.

Fenris walked into her bedroom as usual, right on the ninth bell of the morning.

Hawke looked up as he came in. She was staying awake for longer and longer periods now. Anders had insisted that was a good thing.

Fenris tipped her a nod, simply saying, "Hawke."

She nodded in return, but she didn't smile at him. She didn't smile at anyone anymore.

Fenris had to admit that of everything he missed about Hawke as she had been, he missed her smile the most. He sat down in his chair beside the bed.

"How do you feel?" he asked, as he always did.

"Well enough, considering," she replied, also as usual.

That was all the conversation they normally exchanged, except for Fenris to ask Hawke if she were hungry around noon or so. It got less awkward by the day, though there was still a niggling doubt in Fenris's mind that he should be talking more. He was uncertain what he should say, however. He did not have Varric's storytelling ability, nor did he have Aveline's reports to make. Fenris simply stayed at Hawke's side until he had to leave, whereupon he went home. There was nothing for him to say. Why did he expect himself to speak?

"Fenris?" Hawke asked, breaking his chain of thought.

He looked at her, concerned. Hawke didn't normally speak unless she needed to, ever mindful of Anders's warnings not to exert herself. Did she need something? Was she in pain?

"Why are you here?"

Fenris blinked. Why was he _here_? What manner of question was that?

"Because you are injured," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Ah," Hawke said, her cheeks turning a rather fetching shade of pink. "I see."

Fenris didn't understand. Surely it was obvious that he was here for her. She required someone at her side until she was well again, and he had chosen to take that role. To his mind, there was nothing confusing about it, nothing that would warrant a question.

Then again, he rarely knew what Hawke was thinking in relation to him. After what had happened that night, when he had left her, he had not expected for her to wish to see him again. And yet she had asked Sebastian to look for him. _That_ required an explanation, but his presence here was simple enough to understand, if awkward.

"Then... thank you," Hawke said, her blush deepening. "For being here, I mean."

Fenris was reasonably certain that he would never understand this woman.

"You... are welcome, Hawke," he replied, looking away from her, "but it is the least I could do. I owe you a debt, if you'll recall."

"And I've told you more than once to forget about it," she said, a small smile playing across her lips at last, "if you'll recall."

"I'm afraid I don't remember that," he remarked, feeling playful. Perhaps this was the way to draw Hawke out.

"Don't you?" she asked. "Then..."

Hawke's eyes suddenly widened, as if in horror.

"Shit," she swore, clapping her good hand over her mouth. "Fenris, I'm sorry."

She was sorry? Sorry for what? What had just happened?

"I don't see anything you need to apologize for, Hawke," he said, confused.

Hawke looked at him in a combination of sympathy and fear. "Your memory?"

Fenris sighed in irritation. _I suppose she is just trying to be considerate,_ he thought. _But she does not need to coddle me._

"I believe I was the one joking that I couldn't remember," he said, trying not to let his annoyance show.

"Were you?" Hawke replied nervously. "Perhaps we should check that my memory is well. I appear to have forgotten that."

"Perhaps we should," he agreed, chuckling. _This _was the Hawke he remembered."You normally use more... _creative_ swears."

"Do I, now?" she asked, feigning confusion. "How unusual."

"You are not quite the typical woman, Hawke."

He immediately regretted saying that. Not because it wasn't true, but because it strangled the playful mood. Hawke looked away from him, a faraway look on her face.

"Sometimes I wish I were."

It was odd. Usually, Fenris could not fathom Hawke's thoughts, but sometimes they were as clear to him as his own.

Now was one of those times.

He understood her longing to be just like everyone else. He knew that she was tired of being different. Hawke was, simply, the only one who was willing and able to stand up for others – metaphorically speaking – and she would be marked by that, no matter what she tried or where she went. It was that difference that caused her to stand out in Kirkwall and forced all of its problems onto her shoulders. She had a generous, giving soul and a strong conscience. If it were not Kirkwall forcing her to solve its problems, it would be somewhere else. Hawke would not allow another to suffer if she could prevent it. Even though that philosophy had recently turned her into an invalid, Fenris knew she would never have traded it away.

Fenris wished he had the words to tell her that he understood her pain, that he admired her strength, or that she was _admirable_ in her unconventionality – but he didn't.

He wished he had the courage to take her hand, as he had done when she was less able to speak, when she needed him – but he didn't.

All he was able to do was sit beside her, as she worked through her moment of weakness.

She would emerge the stronger for it. Of this Fenris was sure.

* * *

If alcohol could rebuild Kirkwall, the patrons of the Hanged Man would have been able to repair it thrice over. It was warmer, filthier, and noisier than Fenris had ever seen it. Every table was packed full, as if everyone in Lowtown had come to the pub all at once.

Which may well have been the case, Fenris reflected. It was the only pub in Lowtown that was still standing.

Varric had called a "team meeting" in his suite that evening; Fenris was not sure what to expect. When the dwarf got involved, things tended to get... dramatic.

Fenris was uncertain if any of them needed things to turn for the theatrical. Hawke's single combat with the Arishok was enough story for anyone's taste. He hoped.

The door to Varric's suite was hospitably open, as usual. Fenris noticed that, aside from the abomination, he was the last to arrive. Aveline, Merrill, and Sebastian were sitting around the table. Each had an untouched drink in front of them. Varric was at the head of the table with two mugs in front of him, one full and one recently drained. Tonight he had apparently broken his rule of "never actually drink anything at the Hanged Man."

_This must be serious_, Fenris thought without irony.

"Oh good, Elf, you're here," Varric said, nodding at Fenris. "We can get started."

Fenris leaned against the wall by the door, bowing slightly at everyone in greeting. Merrill and Sebastian smiled at him. Fenris returned one of them.

"Are we not waiting for Anders?" Aveline asked.

"No, I'll fill Blondie in later," Varric said. "He can't make it tonight."

"What's this all about, Varric?" Sebastian asked.

"Hawke," Varric replied. "She's... not doing well."

"Anders said that –" Merrill began.

"I mean her spirits, Daisy. She's not the Hawke we all know and... well, she's not the Hawke we know, anyway."

Aveline chuckled in spite of herself. "I think she'd hit you for that."

"That's the problem," Varric said, his real concern showing. "She hasn't hit me once since she was injured. And I've really deserved it a few times!"

"Only a few?" Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think Varric is trying to be serious," Sebastian said, trying to restore order. "Though, to be fair, it is hard to tell."

"Thanks, Choir Boy," Varric replied. "I think."

He picked up the full mug of ale in front of him and took a swig.

"Hawke is family," Varric said, admitting the truth for a change. "And she's not doing well. We need to fix it, if we can."

"How do you propose we do that?" Aveline asked.

"I'm... open to suggestions," Varric said.

It was clear that he had no idea how to fix this problem.

Truth be told, neither did Fenris. And from the looks on their companions' faces, they didn't have any ideas, either.

"Well, her room doesn't have a window," Merrill said. "Maybe she feels trapped because she can't see outside at all?"

They all looked at Merrill in disbelief.

"I mean, she can't move or get up, and she can't even look at anything but the walls. That would depress anybody," Merrill chattered, her cheeks beginning to flush. "If she could look out a window, she could see trees and people and... the weather... and I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm sorry."

"Actually, that's a fine point," Aveline said. "Hawke _is_ basically trapped in her room."

"And what would be the alternative?" Fenris asked. "She was gravely injured. She is only now well enough to sit up."

"Perhaps we could move her to another room," Sebastian suggested. "Do the guest bedrooms have windows? Or the library?"

"Or maybe we could get her out of her room once in a while," Varric said. "Just a thought."

"She cannot stand yet, Varric," Fenris retorted.

"Hmm," Varric thought for a moment. "An old friend of mine in the Anderfels is an invalid. I bet I can dig up how he moves around. Any other suggestions?"

They were all silent for a few minutes, as each thought about ways to help their friend.

"She needs something to _do_, I think," Aveline suggested. "As long as I've known Hawke, she's been doing something – working for that smuggler, doing odd jobs for the Deep Roads expedition, helping the Viscount with the Qunari..."

"You think Hawke is just bored, then?" Sebastian asked, incredulous.

"It makes sense," Aveline argued. "She has always been active, and now she is forbidden from doing the things she enjoyed."

"So, we want to give her a change of scenery and something to do... anything else?" Varric asked.

"... Companionship," Fenris said.

Everyone's attention focused on him.

"When her mother died, she lost the only real family she had left," Fenris continued, turning his face to the wall so that no one would see him blush. "Perhaps she feels... alone."

"One of us is usually with her," Aveline said.

"But we can't be with her all the time," Varric replied. "Good thought, Elf."

Fenris nodded, silently acknowledging the compliment.  
"She needs a project, a new location, and companionship," Sebastian said. "How do we give her that?"

All five of them paused. This was the million-sovereign question.

"I've no idea," Aveline said after a moment.

"I don't either," Sebastian agreed. "Who knew taking care of one Fereldan would be so difficult?"

Varric's head shot to Sebastian.

"What did you say, Choir Boy?" he asked. His eyes were wide and shining with either hope or alcohol.

"Are you all right, Varric?"

"I'm fine," Varric insisted. "What did you just say?"

"What, 'who knew taking care of one Fereldan would be so difficult'?"

Varric grinned a crafty little grin.

Fenris hated that smile. It always meant trouble.

"Choir Boy, I think you've just solved our problem."

* * *

"Varric," Hawke asked a few days later, "why is this box moving?"

"Lots of boxes move, Hawke," Varric replied airily, examining his fingernails. "It's just a fact of life."

"Right," Hawke said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She looked down at the box on her lap. It was a large-ish crate with holes poked in the sides and a removable lid.

Fenris was unsure how well this idea of Varric's would go over with Hawke. His plan was to procure this gift with all of Hawke's friends in the room as she opened it, so she would know it was from all of them.

Fenris was, however, the only one with reservations about this plan. The others had been perfectly confident that it would work, at least somewhat.

Scratching noises could be heard from inside the box.

"What the ...?" Hawke began.

"You should open it, Hawke," Merrill giggled.

Hawke pulled off the lid of the crate. She gasped as she took a quick look at what was inside.

Her eyes snapped to Varric, "Is it – ?"

Varric nodded with that crafty smile of his. "From all of us."

Hawke reached into the box and pulled out the puppy they'd all bought her. It was a small thing, for now, with light brown fur and large, dark brown eyes.

Hawke and the puppy stared at each other for a long moment. They seemed to have a silent conversation that the others were not privy to. After a minute or two, the dog snuggled into Hawke's shoulder.

"A Mabari," she said as if she didn't quite believe it. "Where did you even _find _one?"

"Remember Lirene? She runs the Fereldan import store in Lowtown? Well, it turns out that a woman with contacts in Ferelden is able to get a Mabari easily," Varric said, chuckling. "Go figure."

"Should I be offended? I feel like I should be offended," Hawke remarked, holding the dog in front of her face and asking it.

The puppy licked her nose in response.

"Well, that settles that," she said, putting it down on her lap. It turned around in a circle three times and then lay down. Hawke began absently petting it.

"Now, I'm not an expert on Mabari," Sebastian began, "but I know that they choose their owners."  
"It's called imprinting," Hawke replied with a nod.

"How do you know if this one has chosen you?" he asked.

Hawke looked down at the dog. "You know, that's a good question. Do you want to go live with him instead?"

The puppy looked at Sebastian and growled, its eyes narrow and its teeth bared.

A general chuckle went around the room.

"You'd like to stay here, then?" Hawke asked.

The puppy licked Hawke's petting hand repeatedly.

"I think it's decided," Hawke smiled at the dog, who continued licking her hand."Is it a boy or girl?" Hawke asked.

"This one's a male," Anders said. "There were others on standby in case this one didn't imprint on you, but I think we've got that settled."

"What are you going to name him, Hawke?" Merrill asked.

"Hmm..." Hawke paused for a moment, thinking. "How about... Vascal?"

The dog kept licking her hand, oblivious to her suggestion.

"Oi. Puppy," Hawke said, trying to get the dog's attention. He turned to look at her. "How would you like to be called 'Vascal'?"

Fenris remembered the afternoon where Hawke had read him the story of Lord Remi Vascal, the Black Fox. He was a clever, cunning man who outwitted the nobility to help the common downtrodden folk. _A fine name for a wardog, _Fenris thought.

The dog yapped his agreement, then snuggled tighter, trying to get closer to Hawke.

"Vascal it is," Hawke chuckled. She looked over at her friends, positively beaming. "Thank you, lads. This was sweet of you."

Fenris had to admit that Varric had come up with a brilliant plan. Hawke hadn't looked this happy since... well, since before they killed Hadriana.

"Don't mention it," Varric said, waving her thanks away. "We'll leave you two alone to get acquainted."

Hawke smiled at her companions as they left the room, each of them offering congratulations and welcomes to the new member of the team.

After he left, Fenris paused outside the door, listening to Hawke chatter amiably to Vascal for a moment.

_Varric has outdone himself this time,_ Fenris thought, suppressing a chuckle. _Let us hope this changes things for the better._

He walked away, out of Hawke's estate and into his own mansion, which seemed much colder and more empty now.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hello, lovely readers! It was my birthday on Wednesday, so to celebrate (belatedly), I'm putting up an extra chapter! And it's super-depressing! Just like getting older! Whee, what fun!

In all seriousness, though, the reactions to this story have been overwhelmingly positive, and that's the best birthday present I could have gotten. Thank you all so much! I hope you'll stick out the rest of the ride with me!

The song being referenced in this chapter is called "Love Makes the World Go 'Round" from _Carnival_. I highly recommend listening to it – not for the chapter, necessarily; it's just a good song.

And, as usual, the story and characters of Dragon Age, as well as some of the dialogue in this chapter, belong to Bioware. I'm just playing with them. We're also venturing into spoiler territory for Act II of Dragon Age 2 (not that we weren't already there, we're just going further in).

Enjoy!

- 333

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Kirkwall_

The first sign was when she began to hum a lively waltz as she sashayed around the estate: _Love makes the world go 'round_.

The second was that she stopped mentioning that her daughter should marry a suitable husband, with a small but pointed emphasis on _suitable._ She made more positive references to the elf she thought was courting her daughter.

_We should have him over for dinner,_ she said, full of warm affection and concern. _He's so skinny. I don't think he eats enough._

The third sign was a talk about courtship and marrying again.

_No one could ever replace your father,_ she said, _but it's nice to think I could still be courted at this age._

The final sign was a bouquet of white lilies and blind panic.

_Where's Leandra? _Gamlen barked, his eyes dark with concern.

She should have seen the signs.

_Love makes the world go 'round._

* * *

_I told you, I saw her!_ the urchin cried.

_Where did she go?_ Gamlen demanded.

_What will you give me for telling you?_

She gave him silver.

He told her to follow the blood.

She set off on the trail, only barely hearing Gamlen call to her.

_Take someone with you, girl! You'll get yourself killed!_

It didn't matter.

Find Mother.

Follow the blood.

* * *

Alessa fell off the cot and made a limp heap on the floor.

Her hair was white.

Had it always been white?

* * *

_Mharen... it's a pretty name_, the note read.

Emeric had been looking for Mharen. It seemed she had been found.

Too late.

Much, much too late.

* * *

The portrait looked like Mother.

There were white lilies in a vase on the mantle.

She didn't stop to look at the books.

_Maker, let me find her. _she thought. _Please._

* * *

_Leandra was so sure you'd come for her, _the mage said.

_I don't want to hurt anyone. Just give me my mother and I'll go,_ she replied.

_She is here,_ he crooned. _She is waiting for you._

There was something seated behind him. He looked back at it.

_Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?_ he asked.

_Love_, he answered himself.

_I pieced her together from memory. Her skin._

Alessa.

_Her eyes._

Ninette.

_Her delicate fingers._

Mharen.

_And, at last, her face. Oh, this beautiful face._

Maker, no.

The Thing turned around.

It had Mother's face.

It slowly stumbled toward her.

It had Mother's face.

It wore a bridal gown and a veil and _it had Mother's face._

There were bangs and flashes and noises and screams.

There were demons and abominations and shades.

There was blood seeping onto her hands.

There was a terrible silence.

_Love makes the world go 'round._

* * *

She held a body that wasn't Mother's and looked into eyes that weren't Mother's. But it was Mother who spoke.

_I knew you would come,_ Mother said.

_You know me – I always save the day,_ she replied.

Mother said, _That man would have kept me trapped in here. Now, I'm free. I'll be with Carver and Bethany and... your father. But you'll be all alone._

_... Say hello to them for me, _she said.

_My little girl has become so strong. I love you. You've always made me so proud._

She sat with Mother, stroking the hair that wasn't hers, singing the song that was:

_Love makes the world go 'round._

_Love makes the world go 'round._

_Somebody soon will love you_

_If no one loves you now._

_High in some silent sky,_

_Love sings its silver song,_

_Making the earth whirl softly._

_Love makes the world go 'round._

* * *

"_Kaffas!_ You're _bleeding,_" Fenris said.

Was she?

Hawke looked down at her arm and stomach, where everyone's eyes were currently locked.

Oh.

It seemed she was.

She looked around her. Apparently she was in the Hanged Man. When had she gotten there?

Her eyes eventually focused on her friends. They were all there, seated around Varric's table, in varying states of drunkenness: Anders, Aveline, Fenris, Isabela, Merrill, Sebastian and Varric... All of whom were now standing and wearing their concerned faces.

It was Wicked Grace night, Hawke dimly recalled.

"_Hawke!"_ Fenris barked.

She turned her head to him. She didn't know why she was here. What was going on? Why was he angry with her?

Anders got up from his chair and healed her. She felt the warmth of the magic as much as she had felt the pain of the injuries.

"What. _Happened,"_ Fenris growled.

Hawke noticed desperation and fear in his voice.

"I had to find Mother," Hawke replied.

Why did Fenris look confused? Didn't he understand? It was simple enough.

Her friends argued for a few minutes. She wasn't paying attention.

A moment later, she was being escorted to Hightown by Aveline, Anders, and Fenris. She tried to walk out in front a few times, but they would always bring her back to a spot in between Aveline and Anders, with Fenris following behind.

She'd always been out front before. What was different now?

They brought her home. Anders examined her, healing a few more cuts and bruises, some of which were serious. Hawke hadn't noticed any of them.

"Will she be all right if we leave her?" she heard Aveline ask Anders.

"You and Fenris live in Hightown," he said, "and I can be here at a moment's notice if she needs anything. We need to find out what happened."

The door to her estate opened and shut.

Hawke mechanically changed into her house robe.

* * *

"Did you find her?" Gamlen asked.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," Hawke replied. "She's gone."

"You were right about the flowers and everything. I just can't believe she's gone," Gamlen choked. "Why her? Why Leandra?"

"Will knowing why ease the pain?" Hawke asked.

"No, it won't. It'll always feel senseless, won't it?" Gamlen snarled. "Where's the one who did this to her?"

"He won't hurt anyone else ever again."

"It won't bring Leandra back, but I'll take comfort in that, at least," he said, turning to leave. "I'll make the arrangements with the city guard to retrieve Leandra... Leandra's body."

Not just _Mother's_ body.

Oh, Maker.

"Take care, my dear," Gamlen said as he left.

He'd never called her that before.

* * *

Whenever Hawke tried to think about Mother, the memories slipped away. The more she tried to hold onto them, the faster they went.

She couldn't see Mother anymore.

It was all her fault.

Andraste save her, it was all her fault.

* * *

The funeral was short and awkward.

Gamlen was there. He didn't say much to anyone.

Her friends were there. They said they were sorry for her loss. Merrill gave her a hug, and Isabela offered a swig from her flask. Hawke didn't take one.

All of the families who'd lost loved ones were there. Several of them came up to Hawke to thank her. She didn't know what they were thanking her for.

The Grand Cleric spoke about goodness, about sacrifice, about souls being sent to the Maker's side, and about honoring in life those who loved you before they died.

She didn't talk about Mother.

The bodies were burned and the ashes buried, just like any others.

* * *

"I don't know what to say, but I am here."

She knew he was there, standing awkwardly at the door to her bedroom, but she didn't look up.

"Am I to blame for not saving her?" she asked.

He took a few steps into her room.

"I could say no, but would that help?" he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "You want forgiveness, but I'm not the one who can give it to you."

The only one who could forgive her was Mother.

And Mother was dead.

The realization hit her like a fireball to the face.

Mother was dead.

Mother was dead and there was nothing Hawke could do about it.

She shattered, collapsing into Fenris's arms and giving the huge, heaving sobs of a lost, frightened, and utterly hopeless little girl.

She was the only Hawke left: Father, Carver, Bethany, and now Mother were all gone.

It had been her job to protect them. Father had _asked_ her to, and she had failed.

She saw Carver being picked up by the ogre and smashed into the ground as if he were nothing more than a child's doll. She saw the ogre toss him aside the same way it had picked him up: without warning, preamble, or significance.

They had all pretended his death had had meaning: he fell in Mother's defense, and got to be the hero he had wanted to be. In reality, he had been an eighteen-year-old boy with so much life left to live and his death meant nothing to anyone but his family. It was a tragedy, not an inspiration.

She saw Bethany, her skin blackened with the darkspawn corruption. She saw her own dagger pierce Bethany's heart, precisely aimed so that Bethany would bleed out and her suffering would end in seconds.

A kind, innocent girl falling to the Blight was allowed to be a tragedy, at least. Somehow that didn't ease the pain.

She saw Mother. She would never be able to stop seeing it now: limp, dull hair; a scarred neck; and dim, grey eyes that weren't her own. She saw a sweet smile on a grotesque creature, a beautiful song in a haven of death, and words of love in the middle of horror.

She was the last Hawke.

Maker forgive her, she had failed them all.

After a moment, Fenris began to stroke her hair, holding her awkwardly while she cried, comforting her the only way he could.

_High in some silent sky,_

_Love sings its silver song,_

_Making the earth whirl softly._

_Love makes the world go 'round._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Hello, lovely readers! I tried to make this chapter marginally less depressing than some of the previous chapters. Enjoy the Bioware-owned goodness!

- 333

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_9:34 Dragon_

_Hawke Estate, Kirkwall_

_Firstday Eve_

She had hung decorations on the chandelier.

How had she hung decorations on the chandelier?

She should have been _resting_. And yet, there were small gold and silver spheres hanging from the chandelier. The warm, genial firelight glinted off them, making the room seem to glitter. There was a garland of pine on the mantle, and the three tables along the wall had been cleared of potions, enchantment, and runecrafting materials. Tonight they held plates of food and goblets of various kinds of alcohol. Everything in the ballroom had been cleaned until it shone; even Hawke's usually untidy writing desk was cleared of clutter, a feat Fenris had long thought impossible.

The entire estate sparkled as if it, along with its mistress, had returned to life.

Hawke had truly outdone herself this time. She had been so clever with them all: asking them what their plans for Firstday Eve were and if they planned to stop by. She spoke with such loneliness and longing in her voice, and the new dog, Vascal, whined so piteously at all of them that they promised to be there.

In retrospect, Fenris shouldn't have been surprised. Hawke was a skilled and cunning woman. He probably should have expected this.

"Ah, Messere Fenris," Bodahn said, bowing as if Fenris were a noble. "I hope all is well. Mistress Hawke and some of the other guests are in the study for the moment. If you'd like to join them...?"

Fenris nodded awkwardly at Bodahn and made his way into the study. It, too, was clean, warm, and bright.

Varric was leaning against the arm of Hawke's chair as the two of them co-told a probably fictitious story about Hawke's childhood – something involving giant spiders and a girl apparently named "Peaches".

Sebastian was standing off to one side of the fireplace (which, like the one in the ballroom, had a pine garland). From his broad smile, it seemed he was enjoying the story heartily.

Merrill was seated on the floor in front of the fireplace, and, with her usual wide-eyed credulity, believed far too much of the tale.

Aveline and, surprisingly, Guardsman Donnic were seated on the stairs to the library, making a pretence of listening to the story but continually getting distracted by each other. Fenris suppressed a bittersweet smile upon looking at them.

Vascal leapt up from his place in Hawke's usual chair when Fenris entered the room. The puppy bolted over to the elf and began jumping, his eyes wide in doggy joy. Fenris leaned down and patted the dog, expecting it to go back to Hawke.

It did not, however, appear to work that way. Vascal continued to jump at Fenris, now making an obnoxious yipping noise.

"Vascal," Hawke called from her chair in a warning but affectionate tone, "get back here, you dinkus."

Vascal licked Fenris's hand once in apology and ran back over to Hawke's chair, leaping into her lap with the momentum of a Qunari cannonball.

"Good to see you, Fenris," Hawke said, turning to the elf and waving him in.

"I was unaware that there was to be a party this evening," Fenris replied dryly.

"Welcome to the club, elf," Varric muttered. He smiled despite himself when Hawke smacked him once in the chest.

"Boys, honestly! It's _Firstday_," Hawke pretended to be scandalized. "_Everyone_ who's_anyone_ has a party on Firstday."

"Are you pretending that you are someone important now, Hawke?" Fenris remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Hawke said with a wicked grin, "Kirkwall is."

"You're not _pretending_ to be someone important, Hawke," Merrill said, "and neither is Kirkwall. The Knight-Commander and the nobles made you Champion. Oh, wait, that's what you meant, isn't it? Never mind."

"Eh. Champion is nice, I suppose," Hawke replied, shrugging with false nonchalance, "but I'm aiming slightly higher than that."

"You want to be Viscount?" Sebastian asked.

"No, I think I'd like to be pronounced the Empress of Sanity. I'm the only one in Kirkwall with any of it left, and isn't _that _a frightening thought," Hawke said with a grin.

It seemed she was in better spirits tonight than she had been in quite some time. Fenris was pleased to see her smile again.

"Well, come _in_ already, Fenris. Pull up a patch of floor," she urged, "or you can use my desk chair if you like."

"I can do that, if you wish," Fenris chuckled. He pulled Hawke's desk chair out from her desk and sat down.

From his position, he was able to look at Hawke for the first time that evening. She had a new house robe, it seemed, made of red silk. Her dark hair was washed, combed, and newly trimmed. Her skin was less pale than it had been, and there was a hint of color in her cheeks. And she looked – better, substantially better.

Fenris caught Hawke's eyes on him – bright, bold blue met muted forest green – and he saw them shine with warm, free affection. After a moment of holding his gaze, she suddenly bit her lip and looked away, with a bit _more_ color in her cheeks.

Fenris cleared his throat. "I – believe I interrupted a story," he said awkwardly. "I apologize."

"Right. Where were we, Varric?" Hawke asked quickly.

"Peaches was tied up in the cave, trapped by giant spiders," Varric replied. "And no one was there to hear her calls for help."

"How did the spiders tie her up?" Merrill asked.

"These were rare Nevarran Fireleg Sac spiders," Hawke invented, trying not to smile.

"They're the size of horses, Daisy," Varric said, dropping his voice dramatically, "and they are very venomous and very intelligent."

"Did they not just use their webs to stick her into place?" Sebastian asked, laughing.

"Oh, no. Nevarran Fireleg Sac spiders are notorious show-offs," Hawke said. "They convinced Peaches to tie herself up, saying it was for her own safety. Right, Varric?"

"Absolutely," Varric replied, his face arranged with an air of perfect truthfulness. "They knew she was terrified of spiders, and they told her that if she tied herself up, they wouldn't be able to cut her down to eat her."

"Peaches, unfortunately, believed everything they told her," Hawke went on. "And so, she tied herself up like they suggested."

"How did she tie_herself _up?" Merrill asked.

"Peaches was far more of a show-off than any Nevarran Fireleg Sac spider," Hawke replied with a grin, "and far less intelligent."

"In Tevinter, they are coveted pets," Fenris said, completely deadpan.

"The spiders can be _tamed_?" Merrill asked, astonished.

"Not as such, no," Fenris admitted, "but it is a mark of honor to have one. Rather like a Mabari in Ferelden."

Merrill began to expound upon the difficulties of owning an intelligent, venomous spider the size of a horse. For one thing, you'd have to be very very nice to it, or you'd find yourself poisoned in the night without any warning.

Hawke's shoulders shook as she silently giggled, arguing that Nevarran Fireleg Sac spiders would probably be more show-offish than a straightforward poisoning; the spider would be more likely to convince its owner to poison himself instead. She then went on to say that the one thing that Nevarran Fireleg Sac spiders will _not_ tolerate is being ridden like a horse. Many magisters had met their ends that way.

"Nice escalation, elf," Varric mumbled, nodding appreciatively at Fenris.

Behind him, the door opened.

"Anders!" Hawke called with a smile. "Good to see you."

Fenris turned and saw the abomination.

And just when he'd started to enjoy himself.

"Hawke – what are you doing up?" Anders asked, concerned.

"Celebrating Firstday," Hawke replied innocently. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm your healer and your friend? Because I worry about you?" Anders argued, clearly irritated, "Because you were stabbed in the stomach two weeks ago and you should really be in bed right now?"

"I just wanted to call everyone together to celebrate the holiday," Hawke said, still smiling. "I promise you: I will not over-exert myself."

Anders looked at Hawke disapprovingly.

"If it makes you feel better, Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal handled the preparations," Hawke admitted. "I supervised and handled a little of the cooking. Anything I could do while sitting down."

"You didn't try to do more than that? I'm impressed," Anders said, surprised.

"Oh, I did. They just wouldn't let me."

Varric snickered and Fenris suppressed a smile. That was exactly like Hawke.

"You should give them raises, Hawke," Fenris remarked with a half-smile.

"A fine idea. Remind me about that tomorrow, if you would," Hawke replied in all seriousness. "I've a terrible head for finances."

Fenris blinked. Ordinarily, she would have taken it as a joke, laughing and pretending to be miserly. In reality, she was quite generous with her coin, but she liked to poke fun at herself as much as at anyone else.

Some things had, apparently, changed.

* * *

Dinner had been delicious and characteristic of Hawke's rags-to-riches climb: Hawke served manchet bread and roasted venison, of course, but she also had potage and some sort of Fereldan mince pie.

(There was also an apple crumble, of which Fenris ate about half.)

Everyone had found something at the dinner that they truly loved; Hawke had apparently even researched Dalish recipes for Merrill and found out from Aveline what Donnic's favorite dishes were.

The only thing that soured the meal for Fenris was the abomination's attentions to Hawke. Anders sat beside her, served her food, refilled her glass, and performed any other small service he could under the guise of making sure she "didn't exert herself".

Fenris knew better. Anders seemed to have redoubled his efforts to gain Hawke's affections, and Fenris appeared to be the only one who noticed.

And while Fenris may have given up any claim he had to Hawke, that did not mean that _Anders _was worthy of her. Anders was a selfish opportunist who would only break Hawke's heart if she gave it to him.

Surely she realized that she deserved better than that.

Surely she didn't – _want_ the abomination?

As Fenris looked at the two of them, relaxed and smiling, he realized that, while he knew Anders desired Hawke, he was unsure of _her_ feelings for _Anders_, if there were any.

She was more sympathetic to mages than Fenris would have liked, and she was far too merciful toward them. It was foolish of her, and Fenris knew she would learn that the hard way.

On top of that, Hawke had once called Anders "handsome," back in the early days, and since then, the two of them flirted shamelessly. Though Hawke had told Fenris that she simply enjoyed flirting, he did not know if that was one of the things that had changed about Hawke since his desertion, her mother's murder, and her own near-death.

Once dinner was over, to everyone's belt-loosening satisfaction, Bodahn and Anders helped Hawke out of the dining chair and into the wheeled chair that Varric had found for her.

"You should head back to the study for now, lads," Hawke had said, smiling at them all. "I'll be there shortly."

And so to the study the companions (minus Anders) retired in high spirits. Orana provided wine and beer with a liberal hand. Aveline and Donnic tore themselves away from themselves and joined in the conversation with Sebastian, Merrill, and Varric.

Fenris remained in silence, considerably less joyful than the rest of the party.

"Would you stop brooding over there, elf?" Varric called.

"I am _not _brooding," Fenris replied.

Merrill giggled. It seemed she'd had a bit too much wine.

"Is it just me, or was Anders quite close to Hawke tonight?" Sebastian asked suspiciously.

"He's a healer," Aveline replied, shrugging. "He was a bit overzealous, but..."

"Oh, right, Cranberry. I'm sure he was doing it out of the kindness of his pants," Varric snickered.

Fenris was going to strangle that dwarf.

"_Cranberry?_" Aveline looked at Varric, incredulous.

"It's the nickname you take issue with? Really?" Varric asked, shaking his head, "'Kindness of his pants' didn't trip you up?"

"Technically, he wears robes," Merrill said, hiccuping slightly.

"I thought of that, Daisy, but 'kindness of his robes' didn't sound as good."

"I don't think we should be talking about it, anyway," Merrill replied in a loud whisper, jerking her head in Fenris's direction. "It might hurt _someone's_ feelings."

First Aveline, now the witch, too? Had Hawke told _everyone_?

Fenris needed some air. He turned to leave the room and opened the door.

"Oh, thanks, Fenris," he heard Hawke's voice from around Varric's height. "Getting doors is a huge pain in the ass in this chair."

He looked down and saw her smiling broadly at him from her wheeled chair.

"It – it is no trouble, Hawke," he said, standing to the side to let Anders wheel her through the doorway.

Anders shot Fenris a glare, which Fenris gladly returned. Bodahn and Sandal quietly entered the room behind their mistress and the mage, carrying a pile of various items – a shield, a book, a few boxes, and other things.

"Maker, I can't even begin to say how good it feels to get around. And despite the door issues, I may never get rid of this chair. It's surprisingly comfortable," Hawke sighed in contentment.

"Where did you get such a thing, Serah Hawke?" Donnic asked from his spot in the corner, "I've never seen anything like it."

Hawke chuckled. "I got it from the same place I get everything interesting: Varric."

"Aw, that's sweet, Hawke," said Varric, "but I think your life is plenty interesting without me."

"True enough, but I don't think I want to find out for sure," Hawke replied, winking at him.

Orana put her tray on Hawke's desk and took the metaphorical reins of Hawke's wheeled chair. She wheeled Hawke over to Bodahn and Sandal, who had set the boxes down near the fireplace.

"Thanks, Orana," Hawke whispered, smiling encouragingly at her shy servant.

Orana bowed and squeaked out something that sounded like, "You're welcome, Mistress."

Hawke clapped her hands together and looked around the room at her friends. Fenris saw the sparkle in her eye that usually indicated trouble.

"All right, lads," she said, "time for gifts."

Exclamations went up from around the room – mostly from Sebastian, Aveline, Merrill, and Anders – it was a nice idea, but Hawke hadn't needed to get them anything; this was sweet of her, but...

"Hawke, I don't have anything for _you_," said Merrill.

With a grin, Hawke silently pointed at Vascal, who had jumped into his mistress's lap for a bit of a snuggle.

Bodahn handed Hawke one of the presents.

"Merrill, this one is yours," said Hawke, holding it out in Merrill's direction.

The witch walked up – unsteadily – and gently took the gift from Hawke. It was a small wooden box with an engraving on it.

"_Lethallan,_" Merrill breathed. "Is it...?"

"Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper," Hawke nodded in confirmation.

"_Ma serannas_," the witch replied. She bent down and put her arms around Hawke's neck.  
"You're welcome, Merrill," Hawke said, embracing the witch in return.

Bodahn handed Hawke another gift as Merrill walked away with tears in her eyes.

"Let's see... this one is for Sebastian."

It was a framed page from an illuminated manuscript and quite beautiful: gold and silver lettering on a purple background with a stylized illustration of Andraste, Shartan, and their followers.

"'Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just,'" Sebastian read as he took his gift. "The Canticle of Benedictions. Thank you, Hawke."

"Happy Firstday, Sebastian," Hawke said with a smile. "The next one is for Varric."

She tossed the dwarf's gift over to him. Varric caught it easily.

"It's – a journal?" Varric looked at Hawke, perplexed. "You got me a journal?"

Hawke laughed, "Well, since you've insisted on becoming my official biographer, I figured you'd need somewhere to write everything down."

"Aww, thanks, Hawke. That's sweet," Varric said, grinning.

Hawke snorted and took the next gift from Bodahn.

"This is for Donnic," said Hawke.

"Serah Hawke, you didn't have to –"

"Call me 'Hawke,' please," she replied, "and take the blighted present."

"I know you're not used to dealing with her, Guardsman, but we'll be here all night if you don't," Sebastian said with a laugh.

"Oh, very nice. Thank you," Hawke pretended to be offended. "I am never going to be able to pass myself off with any degree of credit if I don't get some less honest friends."

As everyone laughed, Donnic walked up to Hawke and took the box from her. He opened the lid and looked down at his gift.

"These spices are outrageously expensive," he said, gobsmacked.

"I know. I bought them. They're not quite copper marigolds," Hawke snickered, "but I hope you like them anyway."

"Hawke! I thought you said you'd never mention that again!" Aveline exclaimed, her face red.

"You _asked_ me never to mention it again. I never said I _would,_" Hawke clarified with a giggle. "All right, I'm sorry. I won't bring it up anymore. I promise."

Bodahn passed Hawke the next gift – a large-ish box with holes in it.

"Anders, this one is yours," she said, handing it to the mage who was never far from her.

"You really didn't have to get me a gift," he replied.

"I really think I did," she returned.

Anders took the lid off the box. His head snapped over to Hawke.

"You didn't," he said.

"I did," she replied with an irrepressible grin.

Anders placed the box onto the floor and pulled out a small kitten.

"You told Merrill you wanted a tabby, right?" Hawke asked.

"Hawke, I..." Anders looked at her, dumbfounded. He began to absently stroke the kitten, who snuggled into his shoulder and started to purr.

"I know she can't replace Ser Pounce-a-lot," said Hawke, "but she's all yours."

"Hawke, I don't know what to say," Anders replied. "Thank you. Really."

"You're welcome. Really," Hawke chuckled.

Bodahn handed Hawke another of the gifts.

"Aveline, you're up," she said.

It was a very small box that Hawke passed to Aveline, but the Guard-Captain gasped when she opened it.

"How in the Maker's name did you get these?" Aveline cried.

"What is it, love?" asked Donnic.

"Two tickets to see _An Antivan Tragedy. _It's been sold out for weeks!"

"It's amazing what people will give to the Champion of Kirkwall," Hawke laughed, winking at Aveline. "You'll be in one of the nobles' boxes."

"Hawke, I can't accept these," Aveline protested.

"Of course you can," said Hawke. "Enjoy the show. Let me know how it is. If it's half as good as people have been saying, I may go see it myself."

Bodahn handed Hawke the final gift.

"And I think it's fairly obvious that this one is yours, Fenris," said Hawke with a smile.

She held his gift out to him. It was another book, one intended for children.

"You, er, expressed an interest in lower Thedas mythology and fairy tales," Hawke invented. "Since you haven't heard a lot of them. Being from Seh– Tevinter and all."

In reality, at their last reading lesson, Hawke had said that Fenris was now far enough along to really practice on his own. He simply needed the means to do so. _A Slave's Life_ was still a bit too difficult for him, and the other books in his mansion were written in Tevene.

After everything that had happened, after what he had done, she still wanted him to learn. She was still encouraging him.

Fenris would _never _understand this woman.

"Thank you, Hawke," he said simply. "It is a fine gift."

"You're welcome," she smiled. "Now, I think that's everything..."

"Not quite. I've a present to give," Donnic replied, surprising everyone except Hawke.

Hawke nodded at Donnic, and he turned to Aveline, taking her hands in his.

"Aveline," he said. "I... am not a man of words. I don't have the perfect adjective to describe how you make me feel."

"Should have asked me," Varric muttered. Hawke shushed him.

"But you inspire me to be stronger, braver, and better. You challenge me to be more than I am. And," Donnic said, "I can't imagine _not_ feeling that way. I want to go on being better. With you."

Pulling a small box out of his pocket, Donnic got down on one knee.

"Aveline Vallen, will you marry me?"

Aveline was stunned. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to get the words out.

"Donnic, I..." she began.

The room was silent for a moment, save Anders's new kitten's purring, as Aveline composed herself.

"Yes," she finally said, a grin spreading its way across her face.

Donnic smiled more broadly than Fenris had ever seen him. He slid the ring onto Aveline's finger as everyone applauded and Bodahn a bottle of champagne.

"Congratulations, you two!" Hawke called, beaming as much as either of the two lovers.

"You were _in on this_, weren't you?" Aveline demanded.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I was," Hawke replied. "Didn't you lot say I needed a project?"

"...How do you know about that?" Varric asked.

"Word of advice: when you want to keep a secret, don't tell the Chantry brother," Hawke grinned wickedly. "Sebastian can't keep a secret for beans."

"I'd be offended if it weren't true," Sebastian admitted.

Orana and Bodahn passed around glasses of champagne to all the companions.

"To the future Donnic and Aveline Henndyr!" Hawke toasted.

Cries of "Hear, hear!" and "Cheers!" went up around the room as everyone clinked their glasses together and drained them.

Hawke said to Donnic, "Welcome to the family. Glad to have you and all that. And if you break her heart, I break your face. Deal?"

"Deal, Serah. I mean – Hawke."

"Good. Now let me see the ring before I get testy."

* * *

Hawke's friends and companions ate, drank, and talked well into the night. Sebastian left shortly after the new year began, giving Hawke a hug and wishing her all the best. Donnic and Aveline soon followed, saying that they'd be back for dinner later in the week to tell her how the play was.

Merrill painted Orana's face with mock _vallaslin _and taught the former Tevinter slave a few traditional Dalish songs before falling asleep in Hawke's usual chair. Varric told stories, each less plausible than the last, but left around third bell. Anders played with his kitten and tried to decide on a name for her. Vascal also tried to play with the kitten, but she was _so _not interested.

And in the middle of it all was Hawke – happy and hopeful, much the way she used to be.

Perhaps 9:35 Dragon would be a good year after all, Fenris reflected as he prepared to say his farewells.

"... I don't know how I can thank you," he heard Anders's voice from the foyer.

Hawke's voice chuckled, "I gave you the kitten to thank _you_, Anders. You've been wonderful these last few weeks."

"Of course. Anything you need, Hawke," Anders's voice replied.

Fenris moved quietly to the side, waiting for the abomination to say goodnight and _leave_ already.

"Take care, Anders. I might get used to this," Hawke said playfully. "I'll start expecting special treatment. And then you'll have created a monster with no one to blame but yourself."

"I think I can live with that," replied Anders.

He kissed her.

The bottom dropped out of Fenris's stomach.

He _kissed _her.

"Happy New Year, Hawke," Anders whispered. And he left.

Hawke blinked a few times. "What in the Void just happened?"

Fenris walked over to Hawke.

"Fenris. Shit," Hawke swore. "I'd say that wasn't what it looked like, but I don't know what that was myself."

"Goodnight, Hawke," Fenris replied, ignoring what she had said. "Happy New Year."

He opened the door and walked into the bitterly cold night, feeling that it was oddly appropriate.


End file.
